Agents of Fortunespnda
by Karasu Yurei
Summary: SPNxDA Crossover. In which Manticore wants Sam for their own purposes and X5494,Alec, is the perfect weapon to use against him. Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, John, Demon, Alec, Lydecker, Renfro. AU with spoilers to date for both shows.
1. Chapter 1

Agents of Fortune

by Karasu Yurei

Warnings: Violence and the meeting of two worlds that should never have met, except for the fact that Jensen Ackles is really hot. Oh, and Lydecker is an asshole, which is why we love him.

_Author's Notes: Wow, what to say about this. First, this is the first solo project I've done in like . . . three years, so it might suck hard. _

_Second, this is a total AU, for both Supernatural and for Dark Angel. For those of you who know Dark Angel, I'm picking Manticore and the Breeding Cult and all of that craziness and plucking it out of Post-Pulse Seattle and putting it in the Supernatural world/timeline. So, no Pulse. I'm also setting the story two years before the pilot episode of Supernatural. Some of the ages are kinda whacked out; accept it and move on. Some of the events of the show are just happening two years earlier, some won't be happening at all. I'm including nearly all of the Supernatural cast, but from Dark Angel it's mostly just Alec, Lydecker, Renfro, and maybe White. Max and the other escapees are only spoken of; Ben is the only one talked about in any detail. _

_Basically, all you need to know about the premise is that Dean Winchester and X5-494 (Alec) are portrayed by the same actor, Jensen Ackles. This encourages lots of people to write fanfics where they are brothers and/or clones. Hilarity ensues._

_The title comes from a Blue Oyster Cult song called "E.T.I. (Extra Terrestrial Intelligence)" which is part of the album "Agents of Fortune". _

_Factual notes about this chapter. The Lost Dutchman Comfort Lodge is a real motel in downtown Mesa. If you drive a black car it really will heat up that quickly. And El Pollo Loco really is a restaurant in Mesa. I had trouble taking Ben's episode of Dark Angel seriously despite the fabulous angst. So here's the first chapter. Enjoy._

Agents Of Fortune

Chapter 1

When X5-494 reported to the third briefing room, Colonel Lydecker was already seated on the far side of the plain gray metal table that dominated the room. Lydecker, as was typical of him, was relaxed with his elbows leaning on the table and hands folded on top of a thick folder. He looked up as 494 entered the room and saluted. "At ease, soldier," the Colonel said, and watched as 494 dropped the salute. His ramrod straight posture eased slightly, but by no means returned to his easy cock-sure way of moving when not being directly observed by his superiors. Lydecker had always found this particular X5's attitude refreshing, even if it didn't amuse Renfro in the least. He always preferred it when his kids had personality.

"Have a seat." The Colonel gestured at the only other chair in the room, positioned directly across from him. He waited until the X5 had seated himself, then pushed the folder over to him. 494 didn't presume to touch it, let alone open it yet; he merely waited in attentive silence for Colonel Lydecker to speak.

"This mission is to retrieve a civilian and bring him back here to base. The civilian is needed here, but is unlikely to come willingly or peacefully. Normally, we would send a small TAC team made up of your fellow X5s, but we feel that with some subversion, the subject can be retrieved quietly. You will be sent in alone undercover to retrieve the subject."

Lydecker paused at this point to observe 494. This particular X5 had not been sent on any undercover missions since the disastrous Berrisford job, which had resulted in 494 making his third and most recent involuntary visit to Psy-Ops for re-indoctrination. The only reason he had not been terminated was because the first two occasions had been preventative measures taken to ensure that 494 did not go down the same road as his twin X5-493, also known as 'Ben'. At least, those were the reasons Renfro did not push for termination. Lydecker had several more, such as the fact that this X5's ability to absorb and utilize new information exceeded many of the others. He also had the makings of a good commander. He was practical and efficient, but easy-going enough that the other X5s, 6s, and 7s would follow where he led with little argument. As far as Lydecker was concerned, he had only one flaw, and that could be worked around.

Lydecker had made the decision that 494 would not be doing long term undercover work again. The risk was too great. This mission, however, made it absolutely unavoidable. It had to be 494. No other agent would be able to pull it off.

When 494 showed no reaction, he continued. "The target is a nineteen year old male in his second year as Stanford University." He pointed to the folder, and 494 opened it and looked at the first page. It was an enlarged photo of a student I.D. showing the nineteen year old Sam Winchester with a wide smile and bright eyes. His hair was slightly longer than convention, but suited him anyway.

494 looked at the picture, then up at Lydecker, "Permission to speak, sir?" he asked, and Lydecker nodded. "Why do you need an X5 to snatch one college boy?"

"Look at the next page," Lydecker said. He waited until 494 had flipped to the next photo. "That is John Winchester, his father." The photo was obviously taken without the permission of the subject, and showed an older man with a tired face. He was in worn jeans and a flannel shirt, standing next to a well cared for monster of a black pick-up truck. "He's something of a paranoid lunatic. He's also an veteran Marine, and has taught his children everything he knows. That knowledge is extensive, even for a Marine. If you look at the next page, we have his service record listed.

"Observation shows that Samuel is untrusting and can more than handle himself in a combat situation," Lydecker continued. "His friends and professors know very little about him before he started school there. His school record shows enrollment and withdrawal from literally dozens of public schools spanning the continental United States."

Lydecker was pleased to noted that he had 494's interest as well as attention at this point. "There's more detail in the file, which you will be allowed to take from here, but the sum up is that John Winchester is a paranoid man that moved his children all over the country with him in the pursuit and crusade against supernatural evil." The colonel found it amusing that 494 was not able to keep his look of incredulity off his face. That was all right, as far as Lydecker was concerned, the entire concept seemed a bit ridiculous. "Yes, you did hear me correctly."

"Sir?" He waited for permission to speak further. "Is this Sam kid crazy too?"

"Not that we know of, though he may have picked up some of his father's habits. We're working on a cover story to give you an opportunity to approach him and get him to leave school with you. It will be difficult, as he broke away from his father to attend."

494 nodded. "So, you're hoping that a single X5 can lure him away, and if not, can take him by force without drawing attention?"

"No, we are hoping that you, specifically, can lure him away, and that force will not be necessary. You are uniquely suited and equipped for this mission. We can't substitute any other in your place. Flip to the next page and you'll see why." Lydecker waited quietly while the X5 did as he was told.

494 was obviously startled as he looked at what appeared to be himself in civilian clothing. "Is the X5-493, sir?" The photo, also taken without the knowledge of the subject, showed 494's image dressed in worn jeans and boots, a black t-shirt and an old brown leather jacket with the collar turned up in the back. He had his hand on the trunk of an old black American muscle car. 494 found himself admiring the car, while still in shock over seeing his own face on someone who wasn't him.

"No, that is Dean Winchester, age twenty-three. He's not an X series at all. He's entirely human with an untampered genetic code. As you know, the X5 series was the first to look entirely human. This was achieved mainly by altering a naturally occurring genetic code. Some of you came from the children of military personnel. Manticore acquired material by setting up a cover within the military as a fertility clinic free to the enlisted. We would select samples from those who had exceptional service records, or some desirable trait that would likely be carried through to a potential child." Lydecker gave 494 a moment to assimilate this information

"You have the rest of today to read the mission file, then tomorrow at 0700 you will leave here with a small team, observe Dean Winchester in the field, and then bring him in. We will create an opportunity for you to contact Samuel, and then you will take Dean Winchester's place. Are the mission parameters clear, soldier?"

"Yes, sir!" The salute was slightly awkward, as X5-494 was seated, but he made it work.

"Then you're dismissed." The colonel watched as X5-494 smoothly rose, closed the folder, saluted once more, and then left the briefing room.

XXXXX

_Sam paused in his walk down the white washed hall, feet coming to a halt on the cement floor. To his left was a window looking down into a square courtyard. He watched for a long moment as people in neat rows went through martial arts drills. They all wore a uniform of sorts: military issue boots and camo pants he would recognize anywhere. He and his brother had worn similar attire from army surplus stores once they'd started to put on some real adult height. That sort of clothing could take the wear and tear of a hunt better than anything they could have gotten out of a Good Will store. Plain gray t-shirts completed the outfits._

_He looked down at himself, absently wondering if he was in the same. Maybe his father had actually enrolled him in boot camp the way he had always threatened to. He was wearing the same gray t-shirt as the others, but with pale blue scrub pants instead of camos, and his feet were bare. His feet were actually sort of cold against the concrete._

_Once he noticed that his feet were cold, he started to get a general feeling of discomfort. Somehow, this was not a pleasant place to be. He shivered a little, and he was sure it had nothing to do with his cold feet. Across from the window there was a set of double doors with a window set in each one. He leaned over to peer into one. What he saw made him jerk_

backward so violently that he almost tipped his chair over. After a couple of moments, his heart rate slowed, and he realized that he must have fallen asleep at his desk while working on his biology homework. He was glad that his roommate wasn't there to witness the lapse. Sam ran a hand over his face and then back through his hair. His eyes automatically went to the windows and door to check the salt lines were all still intact, even though he knew they were damned near permanent. He had made sure of that when he moved in.

Within his first two hours of being in this room, coincidentally before his roommate arrived, he had ripped up the carpet by the door, gouged out a small trench across the doorway, filled it with salt, and nailed the carpet back down over it. The windows had taken more planning. In the end, he'd laid a salt line down the center of a piece of duct tape and then sealed it to the bottom of each window. He'd used super glue to make sure it wouldn't peel off, then painted over it. Winchesters were nothing if not resourceful. The entire set up was damned near impossible to see, and his roommate had certainly never picked up on it.

Sam had wanted to get away from the hunting, but John Winchester had not raised any fools, and Sam was not about to start acting like one. He knew what was out there, even if he wanted nothing to do with it. His roommate also had no way of knowing that there were protection spells painted onto the compass points of the room. Sam had done them all in holy water so there would be nothing visible. No spirit or demon could get into his room. It was really too bad he'd never found anything to ward off the dude from next door, who forgot which room was his every time he got drunk.

He took another moment to shake off the unexpected dream. He'd been having more dreams he remembered lately, and he didn't think he liked it much. He had enough nightmares as it was, and these new dreams were usually far from pleasant. They also carried an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu that he could have lived without.

He sighed, flipped the biology book closed, and stood. If he didn't leave now, he wouldn't make it to the dining commons in time to have dinner with Jess.

XXXXX

X5-494 sat on the floor of his cell, facing the closed but unlocked door. He had his mission file spread out neatly across the floor in front of him. There were a few more photographs of each Winchester from a wide variety of sources. John and Dean each had a police mug shot. There was also a picture from John's wedding. He was in his full dress uniform, and there were clearly other men from his unit in attendance. 494 set that photo down next to the more recent photo of John next to his black truck. Physically, 494 could see it was the same man, but everything else about him had changed.

There were more pictures of Sam and Dean. Many of Sam's were school related, such as the eighth grade shot of him winning the county wide spelling bee. 494 was starting to get the feeling that this Sam kid was a hopeless nerd, even if he did know hand-to-hand combat. He continued to flip through the photos, pausing at the one of Sam and Dean apparently digging a large hole. The image had come from a night security camera, and was rather grainy. 494 suspected that the photo went with one of the many count of grave desecration that the Winchesters had been arrested for. The rap sheet also listed crimes such as assault, credit card fraud, B & E, and the list went on. Sam himself was only involved in a small number of them. And amazingly, none of the Winchesters had actually been convicted of anything.

494 put the photos down and moved on to some of the other material. There was John's impressive service record, along with a couple of CPS reports filed by teachers and motel managers citing child neglect or possible abuse. As for as 494 could tell, the Winchesters always skipped town before anything came of them. School records that proclaimed Sam a genius with flawless grades despite the upheavals, and Dean an under-achiever who didn't apply himself. However, there were occasions when he proved to be just as smart as his younger brother. There was a ninth grade essay he had written entirely in Church Latin, because, according to him, he had been bored. And someone had been teaching Sam high school geometry four years early, but Sam's math teacher didn't think it was his father.

There was also a list of times they – mostly Sam or Dean – had been treated in a variety of emergency rooms across the nation over the last twenty years. The injuries were hardly ever explained, and predictably, the Winchesters usually disappeared the next day. It looked to 494 as though growing up in the Winchester family must have been a real trip and not a fun one.

Maybe playing Dean wouldn't be that hard; 494 thought that he could probably relate. Even if it was difficult, he could put up with a lot to be able to drive that car. He wondered if Colonel Lydecker would let him keep it when the mission was over.

XXXXX

John Winchester was a driven man. He was also a man of duty and a father. Far too often, these three things had trouble co-existing with each other, and he was forced to make choices. John sat on the end of his lumpy motel bed, cell phone in his left hand, journal in his right, and his current hunt spread out before him tacked to the wall. He tried to make the right choice.

After a long moment of silence, he stood and closed his cell phone. After another long moment, he turned it off. He then carefully laid his journal out on the small table. Then he took a well worn picture of Mary out of his wallet and carefully tucked it into the journal. Dean would read the message loud and clear.

It took John only moments to pack his belonging and renew the salt lines. He would follow the Demon, and Dean would pick up where he left off, watching out for those who didn't know what was lurking in the dark. He knew in the end that it would take all three Winchesters to kill the Demon son of a bitch, but for now his boys were safest away from John and his chase. Dean would go to Sam as soon as John didn't make it to the meeting point. Dean and Sam would watch out for each other, just like they always had. Just like John had raised them to.

John tossed one of his bags into the passenger seat of the truck and then took the other around to the bed. He took a few moment to put all the weapons and supplies away into what appeared to be a standard tool chest like one would see in many pick-ups. After that, he made sure that the room, such as it was, was paid up for another seven days. He may have felt regret as he deliberately disappeared from Dean's life, but he didn't take time to dwell on it. He was pretty sure that Sam would make him pay for it the next time they saw each other. It would be just one more issue hanging between them.

XXXXX

X5-494 stood back in the third briefing room, but this time he was in charge of the meeting. He knew that Colonel Lydecker was just on the other side of the one way mirror, but that didn't really bother him very much. The colonel had put him in charge of the observation and retrieval team for one Dean Winchester, and he took the duty seriously.

He was dressed in civilian clothes consisting of sneakers, black corduroy pants, and the typical gray T-shirt. He had a black leather jacket with a high collar that would hide his barcode, but there was no reason to be wearing it yet. Sitting in front of him on the other side of the table were three other X5s, who would be enough to handle anything that Dean Winchester might throw at them and then some. Actually, four X5s had crossed the line into overkill, but Colonel Lydecker liked things to be done right the first time.

He looked them over and then let his easy smile spread over his face. "So . . . how many of you have run missions that require you to interact with civilians before?" 856's hand rose smartly. She, like the others, was still in the standard issue uniform. "What sort of deal was it?"

There was along pause. "It was infiltration assignment, sir."

"How'd it work out?" 494 asked, thinking that she was way too stiff. He was starting to wonder why 'Common Verbal Usage' wasn't a required course.

"Mission parameters were adequately met, sir."

494 sighed. "Okay, guys, we're most likely going to be slumming our way through cheap motels and the like. You need to loosen up. For starters, civvie clothes. I got you some." He gave each of them a pile of clothing. "Mission parameters are pretty basic. We find the target, observe until we, or at least I, have a good grasp on his habits, and then we snatch him up as quietly as possible with as little damage as possible, and return to base. Questions?"

"Just wondering who the target is, sir," 528 asked. He had loosened up some, once he realized that 494 wasn't going to be stiff necked about everything.

"Oh, this is the good part," 494 said with a grin, and spread the photographs of Dean across the table.

It only took a moment to get a reaction. "Sir?" 856 asked in confusion.

"Is this 493, sir?" asked 255. He was one of the older X5s, and could well remember when 493 had escaped with eleven of his unit siblings.

"No. That's the funny part. This is Dean Winchester, a twenty-three year old ordinary. Except for the fact that he's weird as all hell." He shrugged. "Apparently, they made us X5s look normal by using a naturally occurring genetic code as a template for each of us. This, I guess, is my original." He didn't seem bothered by this in the least. Most of the X5s had long ago gotten used to the fact that they were manufactured science experiments. Unfortunately, that acceptance didn't really make one feel any better in the night, when Madame Renfro already considered you a screw up and some other X5 needed an organ or two.

"The colonel said we're to leave in thirty. I'll meet you out at the van." He gathered up the photos as the others picked up their stacks of clothes and left. He really wasn't sure they could pass for normal, even if they did wear jeans.

XXXXX

Dean Winchester did not want to be in the bar, not that one could tell that by watching him. And someone was watching him. He could feel it between his shoulders.

Someone or maybe something, but most likely something – given his line of work – had been watching him. He wasn't supposed to meet his father in Phoenix for another two days, but he planned to just drive straight through and maybe shake whatever was on his tail. He needed to shake it, because he couldn't find it, see it, or catch it, only feel it. He had started to be seriously creeped out.

The only reason he had stopped at all was because gas in the southwest was damned expensive and it was eating through his cash faster than he had anticipated. So there he was, in a shady little bar, trying to make a dishonest living. He would have a few beers so the locals would believe he was as careless as he was acting, hustle some pool, and be gone before they realized that they'd been had. It would only take a couple of hundred bucks to get to the Phoenix suburb he was meeting his father at.

If he hadn't lost his shadow by then, he was sure that between him and his father, that they could find it, shoot it, and then salt and burn it. Even if it didn't need it.

XXXXX

494 watched Dean from his hiding place. Ninety percent of his attention focused on Dean; he had 528 with him to watch everything else. This was the first time Dean had really stopped moving since leaving New Hampshire. At least, it was the first time he had stopped moving to do more than sleep a few hours at some of the most disreputable motels imaginable. 494 thought that the only way they could have been worse in some cases was if they had come with complimentary rats and cheap prostitutes.

The mad dash across the country hadn't left much in way of behaviors to watch and mimic. The X5 was also pretty sure that he and the other three were the reason for the pace Dean set. Winchester could tell someone was stalking him, which had 494 and the others impressed. They were good at what they did, and there was no way your average ordinary would have picked up the way Dean had. He seemed to be trying to shake them with pure speed and distance. He was also possibly figuring sleep deprivation, but X5s didn't need as much sleep as normals. There were even a few that only needed a couple of hours a week. 494 sometimes wondered what someone would do with that kind of time on their hands. Personally, he enjoyed sleeping; maybe he had more cat in him than some of his unit siblings.

He had learned that Dean Winchester had some odd habits. He paid for almost everything in cash, even though his wallet held credit cards. He liked to sweet talk women, but was never rude about it. He laid down lines of rock salt across doors and windows. After he noticed the X5s shadowing him, he started doing the same to every air vent and putting a circle of it around his bed. It was just strange.

He seemed to live off of coffee, peanut M&Ms, and water. 494's stomach turned just thinking about it. He always had five o'clock shadow, so he had to use an electric razor. 494 wasn't going to enjoy that either. He slept with a naked eight inch dagger under his pillow and a gun in the nightstand drawer.

Every night, a military issue duffel bag came out of the trunk of the car.

The car. 494 was in love with the car. She was old, but that just meant she was made of solid American steel. Her engine growled in a way that made the Manticore military Humvees seem downright docile. The Impala had never even heard of the words 'automatic transmission'. 494 had never understood the appeal of automatics. You could have a stroke behind the wheel and no one would notice, because you could drive with half your body, and where was the fun in that? The X5 also approved heartily of the weapons locker hidden in the trunk. That must have been one expensive custom job.

He and 528 watch Dean finish his second beer, order a third, and wander over to the pool table, flirting heavily with a cute little brunette. He was invited to a game and seemed a little reluctant, but after some encouragement from the brunette he gave in. He lost a couple games but seemed pretty good-natured about it.

"Sir," 528 asked, "do you know how to play pool?" He watched as Dean made a couple of good shots and then lost again.

"Does it matter? I'm not sure he knows how to play." 494 also watched Dean, in confusion, as he laid down another larger bet. He hadn't thought Dean was this stupid; it seemed out of character. "What's really bothering me, is why was he bolting across the country trying to stay a step ahead of us, and then suddenly stop to lose a couple of friendly games of pool?"

They watched for a little while longer as Dean lost again, and then made one more foolhardy bet. They paid closer attention when he ran the table and gathered up his three hundred and fifty dollars worth of winnings. "I think you'll have to learn how to play pool, sir," 528 said.

"Yeah, I think so."

XXXXX

Colonel Lydecker did not appreciate having to waste valuable time standing in front of the Committee. He also didn't appreciate that fact that he was standing there with Madame Renfro. He considered himself a military man, and the Committee was not military. Manticore was a two sided beast, one side made up of scientific research and experimentation, the other military know-how.

Lydecker really didn't care so much about the science. They could tinker all they wanted with genetic codes and frozen embryos; he just wanted the product. Renfro was the Committee's liaison with Manticore. That made her, according to Manticore personnel, equal in rank to Lydecker, who was the highest ranking military officer in Manticore. Lydecker took his orders from the Pentagon, which meant that practically speaking, he had control of one of the most dangerous and versatile military forces in the United States.

So he stood there next to a woman that he couldn't stand on a personal level, wondering why the Committee had taken such interest in this one operation. So much interest, in fact, that they had changed the mission parameters, causing him to put one of his kids, one of his X5s, in a very tenuous position of possible failure.

The original objective was to merely obtain some of this Samuel Winchester's genetic material. Not a difficult task, all things considered. If John Winchester hadn't retired from service in the four years between Dean's birth and Samuel's conception, they would have already had what they needed, possibly even a copy of the child in question.

X5-493 and 494 had shown such aptitude that plans had been made to obtain a sample from baby Samuel, but then there was that strange house fire, and John and his children disappeared. Utterly disappeared. Over the next eighteen years, they only appeared briefly and then were gone again too quickly to catch. Lydecker strongly suspected that John Winchester had served as more than a Marine. Perhaps he had served in ways that were not properly documented, much the way Lydecker himself was serving.

Then Samuel Winchester had earned a full ride to one of the best colleges in the country despite his decidedly patchy upbringing and education. That was clearly genetic material worth having. Lydecker received new orders from the Committee, ratified by his commanders in the Pentagon. He was to actually retrieve Samuel Winchester. Without damaging him, no less.

It had taken him over a year to gather enough useful intelligence to put together a useful plan. He had only been able to gain that much because John and Dean would often check up on Samuel, and they could be tracked on their way in and out of the city. He often wondered how it could be so damned difficult to track a 1967 glossy black Chevy Impala in perfect condition with its original Kansas plates, but it was apparently damned near impossible.

The surveillance led him to the conclusion that X5-493 had come by his mental instability honestly, and that he should be careful with 494. The Berrisford job that went completely sideways just confirmed things for him. X5-494 was damaged, and it was most likely genetic, given the paranoid behavior of the older Winchesters. He was remarkably intelligent, possessed an excellent talent for social camouflage, and would someday make a fine battalion commander. But on a personal level, he was emotionally unstable.

After reviewing all of the options and several failed attempts to get close to Sam using school personnel, Lydecker decided that the only workable option was to field 494 in an undercover capacity again, and hope it didn't cause irreparable damage.

So Lydecker stood in front of the Committee to outline the mission parameters which he had already submitted by paper.

"Colonel Lydecker, we called you here to discus some details of the retrieval of Samuel Winchester." The colonel gave a half nod to show he was listening. "We note that you chose to send out X5-494. Is that wise?"

"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it would work," Lydecker said. "He'll be able to mimic Dean Winchester long enough to bring Samuel in. I've tried placing people at the school to make contact and it has always failed. He is either exceptionally untrusting, or he's an infallible judge of character."

"We're worried about 494 becoming emotionally attached to Samuel." It was a different Committee member speaking They all seemed rather interchangeable to Lydecker.

"You let me worry about that. He'll bring the kid in. I'll handle any fallout from there."

"What are you planning to do with Dean Winchester after he is interrogated?" There were five Committee members in total. Lydecker supposed that at least this way they always had a tie breaking vote.

"Most likely terminate him. There wouldn't be any need to keep him around and by them he would be a liability."

"Under no circumstances is Dean Winchester to be eliminated until Samuel is within our custody and . . . managed." Colonel Lydecker could have swore that the man's eyes were gold, or more like a sulfur yellow. He wondered if the lighting in the room had a yellow tint. "We may need the leverage that holding his brother will give us."

"494 can call for back up if he proves to be unmanageable."

"Samuel Winchester is a psychic of largely unknown gifts and strength. It is possible that he might know his brother is dead, and then your X5 would be out there alone, with a person of possibly destructive psychic abilities, a lifetime of Marine training behind him, and nothing to lose," the man said icily. "We do not want him put down. Keep Dean Winchester alive until we tell you otherwise. Is that understood?"

"Yes." Lydecker did not frighten easily, but this Committee member might manage to make him afraid. That did not make him feel very comfortable. He also understood all the effort that was being put into Samuel Winchester.

They had been working on creating an X series with reliable paranormal gifts for well over a decade now, with no real success. An X series like that would be incredibly useful. At the moment, they only had X0-154 and X0-144, or Mia and Brain as they had named themselves. He wasn't sure why those two were stable when so many of the others had not been, but so far it couldn't be reproduced. There were a couple of very young X0s, but it was too soon to tell if they had any real gifts. Honestly, Lydecker expected to have to put them down like so many others in the series. Any gift that showed itself seemed to only be a precursor to the X0 going insane or becoming uncontrollably dangerous.

Having a naturally occurring genetic template might be just what was needed. Manticore seemed to be solving more and more problems by improving upon nature instead of trying to create on their own. "Is there anything else?"

"No."

Lydecker nodded once more and turned to leave, taking pleasure in Renfro's miffed expression that she had not had the opportunity to open her mouth.

XXXXX

Dean parked the car near the office of the Lost Dutchman Comfort Lodge in downtown Mesa, Arizona. He could feel the early summer heat already trying to cook him the second he cut the engine, and therefore turned off the air conditioning in the car. He idly wondered whose bright idea it had been to build a city in the middle of a desert. He stepped out of the car and was thankful that the walk into the air conditioned lobby was mercifully short.

Once inside, he sauntered up to the desk, where a girl in her late teens or early twenties was chewing on the end of a highlighter with which she could assault the textbook she was reading. She suddenly made him think of Sam; he could be so single minded about his research, whether it was a hunt or a school project. He didn't want to admit he missed Sam. They traded phone calls and e-mail, but in the end Dean was still flying solo, and that wasn't how he wanted it.

He cleared his throat loudly to get her attention. "Miss?" He was too tired to turn on much of the charm.

Her hand jerked as she was startled, leaving a bright yellow splotch on her book. "I'm sorry. I was in my own little world." She smiled and Dean smiled in return. Maybe he could muster some charm.

"It's okay, I hate to interrupt. I didn't know," he paused to look at her book, "that Chinese History was that engrossing."

"I've got a test coming up. What can I help you with?" She pushed the book to the side.

"Well, I'm meeting my father here and I was wondering if he's already checked in. I'm a little early, but . . ."

"What's his name?" she asked, pulling out a ledger with names and rooms listed.

"J. D. Campbell."

She took a long moment to look at the ledger. "Nope. Sorry." She gave an apologetic smile. It was strange to Dean how peoples' attitudes could change so much from one part of the country to another. In New Hampshire, he would have been lucky to get a curt 'no,' let alone an apologetic smile.

"S'okay, I'll just need to check in then."

"Double?" He nodded. "Will this be cash or credit?"

"Uh . . . credit." He pulled out his wallet and gave her a card. She noted that he had the same name as his father.

"How many days? Or don't you know yet?"

"At least three." She ran the card and then handed it back to him with a room key. He thanked her and went back to the car. It took him two tries to get back in because he burned his hand the first time he grabbed the handle. "Who wants to live in a frickin' desert?" The Impala had no answer for him.

XXXXX

Three days later, Dean was bored and nervous. He hadn't shaken his tail as he hoped he would. He had eaten at all the local fast food places; hell, he'd actually stopped at a grocery store. Not that it was hard; there was one on every street corner. He had checked out the local used book store and picked up a couple of interesting occult books, as well as a Stephen King or two, just for a laugh. He'd even eaten at a place called El Pollo Loco. He was out of things to do to keep him from worrying, both about his mysterious stalker and his father.

By day four, he was officially worried. His father would have called if he was going to be this late, and his father wasn't picking up when he called. The only thing left to do was to go find the man. The question was whether or not he should get help now, or after he knew what he was dealing with. The nearest hunter that he knew was Bobby, but he was in South Dakota. Sam was practically on the way, but Dean was loath to disrupt his life like that if he didn't have to.

Either way, he needed money. He could hit a couple of bars and still be out of town by 10 p. m. He quickly packed up and went to the office to check out. He left a message for his father to call if he actually was simply late.

After that, he found a suitable bar and hustled some of the locals out of two hundred bucks. He met up with his tail on the way out.

All he could think of to say as he was cornered by a man and woman roughly his own age, who he was sure had not even been in the bar, was, "Huh. I thought you'd be bigger, and, you know, ugly." The man then threw a punch that would have stopped a freight train if it had hit. Dean concluded that they knew their business; they weren't taking any chances coming at him one at a time.

They also recovered faster than him from any hit he managed to land, and they were fast. Animal fast, supernatural fast. He would have pulled the knife from his boot, but he never got the chance. He was dealing a fair amount of damage for one human against two things that had such an edge on him, but he'd been dealing with such things his entire life.

The X5s were a little slower on the uptake because they were used to their genetic enhancements actually giving them an edge, which wasn't really happening. It was X5-494 who ended the fight from where he stood in the shadows. The entire thing was supposed to look like a mugging if anyone should have happened to stumble onto it, but none of them had expected one ordinary to be able to hold off two X5s. They would have won eventually, but it was taking too long. He pulled his gun, aimed, and fired.

Dean looked down as he was hit with what was obviously a tranquilizer dart. "No fair." He had a moment to look into the shadows where 494 was concealed with an incredulous expression, and then he went down like a lead balloon.

XXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry for any formatting errors in this. I write at work too much, and Notepad and e-mail fucked up the formatting, and it's way too late at night for me or Kouri my awesome proof-reader to worry about it now, heh. _

_I all so did a lot of research on this chapter. Most likely to much and more than you care about. I spend hours on Wikipedia looking up all sort of info on the USMC and fire arms. To the best of my knowledge the facts the Lydecker is giving about the fire arms is accurate except for the fact that the Marines have upgrades their rifles starting in 2000 (Which is long after John would have retired from service) I think._

_The only other thing worth mentioning is that I did not invent Mia, though I **did** invent her designation number. She and her power are Dark Angel Cannon._

Chapter 2

By the time 494 arrived back at the facility with the Impala, he had immersed himself into the character of Dean pretty heavily. He wanted to make sure it was second nature by the time he had to face this guy's kid brother. In some ways, it was much harder than his role of Simon, because he had to keep the right persona twenty-four hours a day. Other ways it was a bit easier, because with Simon he had just filled in the space, which meant that a lot of his own personality came through. This time he was actively playing a role, putting on a mask. The mask was similar to his own face, but still a mask. And he sure as hell didn't plan to make any emotional attachments this time. Unless it was to the car. By this time he was wearing Dean's clothes, and had the swagger and the smirk down pat.

He was still getting used to the verbal quirks, and had yet to take Dean's ring and pendant, though he had had 852 take his wallet. There were some interesting surprises in it, such as a total lack of Dean Winchester. Everything had been for a Mr. J. D. Campbell Jr. Driver's License, a couple of credit cards, health insurance. The insurance card was fake, or at least fraudulent as hell. 494 was sure of that. He thought that, while the others may also be real, they were a crime waiting to be caught. He kept it in his back pocket anyway.

494 looked up after he had parked and locked the car. Locking the car was habit now, even if there was no one here to steal it. Colonel Lydecker and Madame Renfro were watching him from an observation window one story up. Mercifully, Renfro turned and left, and 494 didn't care where she went as long as it was away from him.

Lydecker turned the other way, to a staircase that led down into the garage. 494 stepped over and stood in front of the door at attention, waiting. Lydecker nodded in acknowledgement of 494's sharp salute. He looked his soldier up and down, noting how the stiff posture really was not in keeping with the clothing he was now wearing. It was very much like he was looking at the photograph he had provided 494 with at the beginning of the mission, though without the leather jacket.

"At ease, soldier," Lydecker commanded, and watched 494 fall into character. His posture relaxed but didn't slouch, and his thumb hooked into the pockets of his worn jeans, which was something 494 didn't do. He had been taught to keep his hands free in case quick action was needed. "I see the mission was successful. Did you have any trouble?"

"Yes, sir, it was. And no, not to much. Staying concealed was kinda tough. He's good. Knew we were there the entire time. 'Course we're better, and he never actually caught sight of us. 528 and 255 have some solid bruising. When capturing him, we decided to mimic a mugging, just in case there were witnesses. Anyway, he damned near took 255's arm out of its socket, and I think 528 may have a mild concussion. He knows how to fight better than the reports give him credit for. He also adapt damned quickly, sir. He knew after the first punch that he was dealing with something stronger and faster than an ordinary human. He didn't even blink, just changed his tactics. I eventually had to take him out with a tranq." 494 looked down a little and his hand came up to scratch behind an ear as he ducked his head, another new mannerism. "Kinda embarrassing, that it took three X5s to take down one ordinary."

"You still completed the mission within parameters. He was an unpredictable opponent." Lydecker found the slight changes fascinating to watch. He hadn't previously know that 494 was such a competent actor. "Is there anything else I should know about, soldier?"

"Uh . . . yeah. I need to learn how to play pool." He looked up at the colonel, who merely raised an eyebrow. "He hustles pool for money. And he's really good at it. I think I'll need to do the same, because I think that's how he pays his way. I'll need his jewelry, too. I hadn't bothered to take it from him yet."

"I'll see to your pool lessons, and we can go retrieve the rest of your wardrobe when we're done here. Have you searched the car?"

"Dude, sir, you have to see some of this." With that, he set off across the garage back towards the Impala, clearly expecting the colonel to follow.

Lydecker followed with interest. This Dean Winchester had to be a very confident person, if portraying him bred this sort of attitude into one of his kids. He also noticed that 494 had a gun tucked into the back of his pants under his shirt. He watched as 494 unlocked the front passenger door and then used a different key to unlock the glove box. Inside was bag of peanut M&Ms and a cigar box, which he took out and handed to Lydecker.

"I could get into just about any facility in the country with these," he said. The colonel opened the box and was presented with Dean Winchester's face, matched up with an impressive array of government IDs. All of them were expertly put together. Under those were a much smaller number with Sam Winchester's face. Lydecker mused that they must have been relying on his exceptional height to pass him off as an adult.

He closed the box and handed it back to 494 while looking into the glove box. "What's in that bag?" he asked. The bag in question had been hidden under the box and was gray, possibly made of undyed wool, and clearly hand sewn. It wasn't very big, about five inches, with a drawstring closer made of suede.

"More weird shit. Feathers, a little statue of a dog or something, something written in Greek I think, some weird thing in Egyptian hieroglyphs. There's stuff like that all over the car, under the seats. I gave up trying to understand these people."

Lydecker nodded, thinking that perhaps 494 was right. "What other surprises do you have?" he asked, and watched 494 grin widely.

"The trunk is awesome." 494 replaced the box and locked the glove compartment and then the car door, and circled around to the trunk. Inside there appeared to be the normal assortment of emergency car supplies, at least if you were a survivalist. A couple of Mylar emergency blankets, battery-powered lantern, a few food items, battery operated CB radio, and two large tool boxes. Lydecker noticed that there was no first aid kit, which seemed odd given the other contents of the car. He reached out and opened one of the tool boxes. It was filled with tools, most of them are geared to car maintenance. He closed it, then reached for the other one.

"This is the interesting one. These people are nuts." 494 pushed it closer to Lydecker, who opened it, and his eyebrows began to climb. This, then, would be the first aid kit. It was the most elaborate first aid kit he had ever seen. Along the top were three large zip-lock bags labeled 'Dad', 'Dean', and 'Sammy.' Each one had heavy duty painkillers, both pill and injectable, the kind one should only be able to get in hospitals. Each bag also had a full course of antibiotics. None of them matched; each little kit had clearly been put together carefully. Under those was the normal complement of bandages, over the counter painkillers, and anti-bacterial cream. Then came the several elastic bandages, the suture kits, butterfly sutures, local anaesthetic, surgical tape, burn creams, boxes of sterile gauze pads, syringes, saline, a bottle labeled 'sterile holy water compliments of P. J. M.', a few dried plants in smaller, carefully labeled zip-lock bags, a small kit of tools for removing bullets and the like, and latex gloves It was all topped off by a couple of washcloths and hand towels that, while soft and clean, had clearly spent some time in the trenches if one judged by the stains. "There's half an ER crammed into that thing," 494 announced. "These people are insane. I mean, who keeps holy water as part of a first aid kit, and what's with the dried plants?" He watched as the colonel closed and latched the box.

"I'm also curious as to who P. J. M. is," the colonel commented, more to see if 494 could answer him if for no other reason. 494 did not disappoint. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket with a smug grin. Dean Winchester was a smug person.

"I think it's Pastor Jim. There's no last name listed, but it's a Minnesota area code. I figured it shouldn't be too hard to trace most of the numbers if we wanted. I haven't been able to hack the voicemail yet, though." He put the phone in the Colonel's hand when it was held out.

"We'll have X0-154 ask him for it."

"He's already a sucker for pretty faces," 494 said with a smirk. "She shouldn't have any trouble." With that, he leaned back into the trunk and shoved the industrial sized sack of rock salt to the back.

"This is the best part, sir." 494 shoved everything else to the back or sides of the trunk and then peeled back the upholstery to reveal another compartment. Its metal lid was held closed by a simple combination lock which 494 quickly removed. He lifted the lid and propped it open with a sawed off shotgun that seemed perfectly sized for the job. "Look at this stuff. He knows how to handle a weapon, or at least properly care for one, but man, there's some weird shit in here. Two crossbows. Two shotguns. There's a lot of weapons doubled like that. A cross or four, some pretty weird looking knives. And take a look at the boxes of ammo. Most of them just aren't normal." He watched as Lydecker poked at things curiously. The man looked into the obviously prepackaged bag containing a small box of salt, lighter fluid, and a dozen books of matches.

Colonel Lydecker ruffled through some of the other items. Some seemed pretty normal: a rifle, hunting knives, and the like. Some of it was more unusual for a civilian to own, but still not entirely unexpected, such as the sniper rifle. Lydecker picked it up and looked at it. "Dean must be an expert shooter. This is a Marine issue M40A1. There is no civilian model. This is what John would have been trained to use during his service." Still holding the rifle, he scanned the small compartment clearly set aside for ammo. "And here are the .308 Winchester cartridges that they would have used standard. His unit must have loved his last name."

"I'll familiarize myself with all of the standard Marine equipment tonight, Sir."

"That's a good idea, soldier."

"I'm pretty sure that this is Marine issue as well." He pulled Dean's pearl gripped handgun from the back of his pants and held it out to Lydecker. 494 didn't actually know which branch of service Colonel Lydecker was part of, but it didn't surprise him that he seemed to have such knowledge. All of the X5s were trained to handle most weapons. Either they were specifically trained on it, or they were taught to be able to take in the specifics and adapt to use a weapon they were not intimately familiar with. Aside from that, no real importance had ever been placed on the background of the weapons.

Until the colonel mentioned the fact that Dean seemed to favor his father's military weapons, 494 could have cared less about the history of an M40A1 sniper rifle or what ammo was used with it, unless he needed to shoot it. He did find the Winchester ammunition amusing. Lydecker handed the sidearm back to 494 and watched as he efficiently tucked it away again.

494 stood quietly as Lydecker examined some of the other weapons. He had noted earlier that, despite the seemingly haphazard sorting and storage system, all of the weapons were well cared for. The guns were clean and well oiled, the knives were sharp. Hell, even the crossbows were unstrung and properly cared for. Lydecker shook his head as he saw the boxes carefully color coded and labeled for such things as silver bullets, iron rounds, blessed and consecrated rounds. All he could do when he got to the rock salt rounds for the shotguns was shake his head.

He looked up at 494 when he helpfully offered, "There's a sword and some sort of battle axe in the very back. And water guns. I think they go with the holy water." There was a pause, and then 494 continued. "I'm not sure I can act this crazy, sir."

Lydecker resisted the urge to tell him to get in touch with Ben to get some pointers. "You most likely won't have to. You're just retrieving Samuel. If all works out well, you can bring him straight here." He stepped away from the trunk and gestured for 494, who closed it up and locked it. "They should have Dean up in the interrogation room by now." He headed back for the stairs, knowing that 494 would be close behind. A couple of weeks mimicking Dean Winchester wasn't going to overcome an entire lifetime of training.

XXXXX

X5-494 and Colonel Lydecker watched as X0-154 walk down the hall towards them. Mia – she insisted that they call her by her chosen name, and Lydecker saw no reason to argue if it kept her happy – was dressed in civilian clothing. The outfit was a knee length flowing cream colored skirt with shin high, large heeled brown boots. Her blouse was a light brown and cut low enough to draw interest, but still tasteful. Her hair was swept back in a cloth headband, her makeup light but effective.

494 never saw any other X-unit wear makeup unless they were leaving for a mission that required it, but Mia always did. He had to admit she was pretty, but not in the same way most models were. She was more what would have been termed voluptuous. She had definite curves and was a bit on the short side. There must have been a lot of Italian or Sicilian in her genetic plan. She had large, expressive brown eyes. Those were her real weapon, and he knew it. She was designed that way.

This X0 was a telepath of sorts. She couldn't read someone's mind, but when she made eye contact, you'd answer her every question, or believe whatever she told you to. And you'd like it. That was the part that really fascinated 494. You'd like it. Though he did have to admit she was pretty fun to talk to, when one didn't make eye contact. She understood the outside world in a way most of the others didn't, and she had a sense of humor.

She stopped next to them and smiled up at them. "So, you think he'll like me? He likes pretty girls, right, 494? Does he like nice girls?"

494 smiled at her. "I think he'll like you just fine."

"The poor guy looks so bored," she said, as she stood between Lydecker and 494, watching Dean. It was hard to tell whether she really felt bad for him or not. She was right. Dean looked bored to tears. He was sitting at the table, tapping his fingers against the table to music only he could hear. 494 didn't recognize the rhythm, but after watching him for a while, it became obvious the Dean knew the whole album by heart.

At first he had prowled the room like a caged panther, going over every joint, crack, corner, screw, and wall panel with an expert eye. If there had been a way out, he would have found it. They had left him for a couple of hours, waiting for him to give up on escape, or at least to convince himself that there was no way available from the room. He had been stripped down to his T-shirt and jeans, so he had no weapons or tools other than what he could do with his bare hands, which was dangerous enough.

The first interrogation had gone badly. So badly, in fact, that they had learned nothing except that Dean Winchester's well of wit and sarcasm seemed never-ending, and he was not the sort of person to let things slip out of frustration or upset. The only thing you got out of him from frustration was a punch to the face. Honestly, 494 had found that sort of satisfying. He'd never like that questioner anyway.

The colonel had called a halt to things after two hours. They had two choices, he had said to 494. They could either try medication and physical pain, or they could bring in Mia. Mia seemed like the more expedient course. So now the three of them stood in an uneven row, watching Dean have his own private concert.

"What would you like to know from him, sir?" she asked of Lydecker with a smile.

"We need to know about Sam Winchester from a more personal level. Dean's attitude and opinions towards him. And how he would get Sam to leave school with him. We also need the password to his cell voice mail."

"All righty." She paused and looked 494 up and down in Dean's civilian clothes. "You look good, but I think sweaters would suit you better. And don't forget to spike your hair in front, honey." She gave 494 her bright smile and then headed for the door to Dean's little cage.

494 just blinked at her for a moment before turning to watch Dean. He stopped the tapping and looked up at the door opened, his irritated look melting into a wide smile. "Well, if nothing else, the view is improving."

"That's very sweet of you. I hope the conversation will be better too." She hit him with the eyes. "You do want to talk to me, don't you?"

Dean's smile quirked a little and took on a flirtatious hint. "Of course. What's your name?"

"Mia. You're Dean, right?"

"Yeah, Mia. So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? And what are the odds of us getting out to go somewhere more appealing?"

"Probably not good, but it was sweet of you to ask, honey." She sat herself on the table and kicked her feet back and forth, much like a child would, and made eye contact again. "I'm really curious about your family. You Winchesters seem like really interesting people."

"Well, I am. Dad's kind of a loner, and Sammy, well, Sammy wants to be normal." Dean smiled charmingly at her. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked up at her. Quite considerately, he didn't sit in front of her trying to get a view of her legs.

"You want to tell me about Sam? I bet you have a lot you could say about him."

"Well, yeah, it's Sammy, but he isn't here. You and I are."

"You're incorrigible."

"I know."

"Seriously, tell me about Sammy." She put him back on her topic of interest with another pointed look.

"Sam. No one gets to call him Sammy but me." His tone was still friendly, but entirely serious.

"All righty. Didn't mean anything by it. You gonna tell me about him?"

"If you really want."

"I do."

"The most important thing to understand about Sammy is that he's an idiot. I mean, he's got more brains than anyone knows what to do with, including his fancy school, but he's an idiot with the emotional stuff."

"Really? And he's away at college?" She had read the personal information available, so she knew just how to lead Dean through the conversation. She could make him answer her questions, but that would only give bare bones. This way, he wanted to talk, and people that wanted to talk would say more.

"Yeah. Stanford. He got a full ride. I told you he was a bright boy." The parental pride was obvious in his voice.

"So what's wrong? You don't sound happy that he's going to school."

"He and Dad argued. They don't see eye to eye. On much of anything anymore."

"So they don't talk?"

Dean shrugged, not liking the topic much. "Dad told him that if he was going to go, he should stay gone. And Sammy's an idiot, and for once he listened. The one time I want the little bitch to argue, and he doesn't. And where does that leave me?"

Mia looked at him, concerned. "Where does that leave you?"

"Pissed off, since you ask. And apparently kidnapped and stuck in whatever the hell this place is." He gave her a shrewd and very aware look. "What is this place? And what the hell do you want with my brother?"

Outside the room watching throw the glass, 494 looked at Lydecker, who looked a little startled. People could, on occasion, catch Mia in the act as it were, but usually not until after the fact. "I got some good shit from this guy," 494 said with a grin.

"So it would seem, soldier." He seemed to keep most of his attention on the conversation Mia was having. Privately, he thought that this right here might be one of the reasons that the reindoctrination never seemed to work very well on 494. Dean Winchester was far more aware of the workings of his own mind than most. It seemed to carry over to 494, and possibly Ben as well.

"We want him for his mind, of course." She tilted her head a little, capturing his eyes with hers.

"Well, I suppose if you're going to want him for something, his mind is a good thing to want him for. Unless you're going to put in a jar or something. I'll kill anyone who hurts him. I want you to know that."

He said it in such an off-handed manner that Mia was inclined to believe him. He didn't need to put conviction into it, because it was a forgone conclusion to him. "That's part of why I didn't want him leaving for school. I can't protect him if he's away from me. I think that's what Dad was thinking too, but Dad's kinda fucked up and doesn't . . . he never learned to handle Sammy. He thought he could keep Sam safe if he forced Sam to choose between school and us, because he thought Sam would choose us."

"Why didn't he choose you?"

"Because he was angry. Because he had worked his fucking ass off for something that he came by honestly and was his alone, and he got that acceptance letter. Dad just dismissed it out of hand. It wasn't safe, so he wasn't going. No negotiation, no discussion, decision made. But Dad and Sammy don't know how to talk to each other or listen to each other, they just . . . what the hell is this? Family therapy hour?"

Mia shrugged. "I'm a good listener. Maybe you need to get some of this out into the open."

"I don't like having my feeling out in the open. It's drafty out there, you know. That's more Sammy's thing. Caring and sharing."

"Sam likes to talk things out?"

"Sammy likes to understand. He likes to know all the angles before he makes any choices. He likes to take his time. He's like Dad that way. Not like me. Give me the Reader's Digest version. I'm impatient. Sammy and Dad, they like to know everything."

"If they're so alike, then why don't they get along?"

"Because they're alike. They both need to be in control, but Dad doesn't share command. He's a need to know sort of guy. He needs to know and we don't. But Sammy, Sammy does need to know. He has to be able to do his own thinking, and Dad . . . Dad knows his shit, so he doesn't like being second guessed. Or at least, that's what I think he thinks Sam does to him. That's not what really happened. Or at least it wasn't. Sammy just needs to think things through and then make his own choices. He was a very independent kid. At least about some stuff. You want something from Sammy, you have to ask."

494 was glad he was watching and listening. Getting this from Dean was much more educational than reading it from a report. And if Sam – Sammy – he had to get into that habit – was a smart as Dean claimed, then he would need every advantage he could get.

Mia smiled, because Dean was warming to his topic, and that made the information just leap out. So far, Dean had been a tough nut to crack. He was smart enough to notice his own change in behavior pattern, and that made him focus on what was going on. That was strange for her; usually once she batted her eyes at someone, they were hers. It made conversations often very boring.

"He's got all those brains, and I think if he doesn't get to use them, they overheat or something, and turn him into an emotional fuckwit. But don't tell him I said that. He'd give me the cold shoulder for a month and I miss him enough as it is."

"You still talk to each other?"

"Yeah. He's my baby brother; I'm not letting him just leave. Someone's got to look after him."

She had finally hit the jackpot. "So you still take care of him?"

"Always will. Not that he needs a lot of it. Kid's got a good deal, they even feed him, he says. But we talk. I call and check up on him. He calls when he needs to. We talk about . . . you know, it's really none of your business what we talk about." Dean shifted in his chair, not liking this conversation much now that he thought about it. He didn't care how pretty she was; Sam's issues, of which there were many, were none of her business.

She let that line of questioning go. "So what's he in school for?"

"Geek boy wants to be a lawyer. Guess it would be good to have one in the family."

"Does he have a lot of friends?"

"Yeah, but none of them really know him. That's another reason I don't like him going to school. That can't be good for you. Pretending all the time like that."

"Do you think he'd go with you if you asked him to leave it?"

"A: why would I ask him to leave? He worked for this and he'll stay there as long as he needs to. And B . . . no, wait. What the fuck is going on here?"

Mia reached out and gently turned Dean's face so they were looking each other in the eye. "What would you have to do or say to get Sam to leave with you?"

494 grinned. "Finally, we get to the good stuff."

XXXXX

494 took a final deep breath before knocking on the dorm room door. As soon as someone answered it, he was going to have to be Dean Winchester for however long it took to snaffle this kid from Palo Alto, California, to Gillette, Wyoming. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be a straight shot, because his cover story was that John Winchester was missing and Dean wanted help looking for him. Dean had told them exactly what to say to get Sam to leave school; he hadn't told them willingly, but it was hard to say no to Mia. She was cute, and dangerous as hell.

The door had a large white board on it with the names Sam Winchester and Ken Harlow at the top. Under that, quickly scrawled were the words 'Movie Night', and he could hear more than two people in the room. It was at least five, his genetically enhanced hearing told him. Eventually, someone pulled the door open, and 494 could tell that it wasn't Sam simply by the fact that he had to look down by several inches. The kid blinked at him. "Do I know you? You sure you have the right room?"

"Yeah. I need to talk to Sam." He peered into the darkened room, lit only by the movie playing. 494's cat eyes had no trouble making out the sight of Sam's head whipping around at the sound of his voice.

"Dean?" Sam was already standing and heading over. "What are you doing here, man? What's wrong?"

"Dad . . . he's, well, hey, you might want to not have this conversation in the doorway." He waited while Sam stepped into the hall and pulled the door partly closed behind him. "Dad's missing."

"Dean." Sam sighed, because Dean worried. That was Dean's role in the family, and it had been for Sam's entire life. "He's probably just had one of his meltdowns. He's sorta been due for one. He'll sober up. He always does."

"He was hunting, and now he's missing, Sam." 494 was trying to be aware of the people he knew had to be listening in, because Dean would have been careful.

"Yeah, and here you are. So it obviously went okay."

"I was in New Hampshire. He was hunting here in California."

"You were hunting alone?!" It came out as an indignant squawk.

"Sam? Everything cool out there?" Someone called.

"Yeah, dude, fine."

"I'm twenty-three, dude. Two jobs needed to be done, so we split up."

Sam sighed. "Okay, so . . . explain things to me."

"We were supposed to meet at this place in Mesa, AZ, just sort of a mid-point. You know, if you suck at geography. And he was two days late. He's not answering his cell." "How do you know he's not just . . ." "Sam." 494's tone was exasperated.

"Why are you coming to me? I've been out of the game."

"Because you're on the way. The only other thing I could do was go and check it out and then cool my heels waiting for back-up."

"Dean, man, I have like 3 tests tomorrow." He started to open the door to his room again. "You know you'll get there and he'll be fine. He doesn't even want to see me."

494 did not want to have any of this conversation in front of witnesses, but somehow he thought it might have more impact on Sam if he did just say it. "Sam, he told you to leave. I didn't. I haven't asked anything else of you." He watched as Sam turned and took another step back into his room. "Please. I'll drive you back as soon as we have Dad found." 494 was very aware of the audience. "I promise." And it was one he wouldn't have to break, because they wouldn't be finding John Winchester. "Please, Sammy."

Sam held still for a moment then sighed. "All right. Give me ten minutes to pack." And with that, Sam set about gathering up his things in the light of the TV and ignoring the strange looks he was getting.

"Sam?" It was one of the others. "What's going on?"

"Just some family drama." He was stepping over someone to pull a military duffel out of his closet. As he took it down, it was obviously not empty. His friends were staring. Apparently Sam didn't talk about his family, nor did he do things impulsively like suddenly taking off.

He set the bag onto his bed and reached around someone else as he yanked some clothes out of his drawers and rolled them for travel like it was second nature. Once the clothes were in the bag, he dropped to his knees beside his bed and felt around underneath. 494 noticed that he was still holding a T-shirt, which was wrapping around something, most likely a gun, when he pulled his arms out and tossed the bundle into his bag. Then came a small box from which he picked a couple of books from, and the rest were shoved back underneath. After that, he took a moment to pack up his laptop into a leather satchel along with its cord and other useful bits. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a leather bound journal, which went in with the computer. Moments later, he had his shaving kit in the pack and his sneakers on. He had packed in less than ten minutes and could most likely live out of that bag for a month or more.

That same kid spoke up again, as another put the movie on pause. "Sam, we have a test in Poli-sci, tomorrow and you know how Thurson is about that stuff."

"She'll just have to get over it. I'll call her tomorrow." He shouldered the duffel bag, and ignored the clunk and rattle it made as the weight in it shifted.

"Sam, who the hell is this guy?" A couple of the kids peered around Sam to look at 494 as he leaned on the door post. He waved at them.

"My brother, Dean. We shouldn't be gone very long. We're only going to . . . Dean where are we going?"

"Jericho, charming little town about four hours north of here."

"There. I should only be gone a couple of days." And with that Sam plucked up his satchel and turned to follow 494 out the door.

XXXXX

494 followed Sam out of the dorm building and then took the lead towards the car. As they reached the car, Sam ran his fingers over the trunk and along the side of the car as he stepped to the passenger side door. 494 could have sworn that it was more of a caress than anything else. He unlocked his door and leaned over to unlock Sam's door, only to have it pull away from him. "Dude, did you forget I have keys for her?" Sam asked in amusement. He settled in and then lifted his two bags over the back of the front seat and dropped them onto the back seat. His arms were that long.

The stereo came on as the engine turned over, and Sam was greeted with the sounds of The Eagles of Death Metal, and was thankful that at least they had started with a group he didn't much mind. Sam settled himself comfortably into the seat that had molded itself to his body years ago. "God, I missed this car. I have to fold myself into a pretzel to fit into any of my friends' cars." Sam gave 494 one of his bright smiles, and the X5 smiled back, but when Sam eye's lingered on him for a second too long, he felt that maybe he had somehow missed something. He shrugged it off, because, honestly, what the hell was he going to do about it? "Any idea what Dad was hunting?"

"No," 494 said, which has true, but Lydecker had managed to give him a few of the details which would have drawn John in. "But he was looking into a bunch of disappearances along the same five mile stretch of highway." They spent the next few minutes going over what 494 knew of the case, which wasn't much, but that didn't seem to surprise Sam at all. Dean had said John Winchester was not big on sharing.

About a half an hour away from Stanford, the tape came to an end. Sam popped it from the player and tossed it back into the shoe box it had come from, then settled back into his seat. "Sammy, you could put something in, you know." Sam gave him a strange look. "What?"

"Am I dying and you just haven't found a way to tell me yet?"

"Yeah, you have leukemia, now put a damned tape in."

"You're the driver," Sam said, and shrugged. Then he popped a tape in and continued to man the stereo for the rest of the trip.

XXXXX

Dean was laying in the middle of the cell floor just for a change of angle as he stared at the concrete ceiling. He was still kicking himself for everything he had told Mia. He'd pretty much done everything except protect Sammy. And that was just fucking killing him. Unfortunately, there wasn't shit he could do about it until he could get free.

Currently he was singing, and was halfway through his third Blue Oyster Cult album when his guard apparently snapped. "Would you shut up?!" The words were snarled from the other side of his door, filtering in through the tiny barred window.

Dean grinned; finally he had some sort of entertainment to distract him from his guilt. "No way, dude. If I have to go stir fry nuts in here, I'm at least going to take some of you with me."

"Why am I being punished?" It was clearly a rhetorical question from the guard, but Dean chose to answer anyway.

"Because you're a bad person."

"I'm just following my orders."

Dean thought the guard sounded sort of young. "And that makes you a party to my kidnapping and the kidnapping of my baby brother. So you're a bad person. Besides, I can't think of anything else to do to amuse myself."

"Try exercise."

"Been there. Done that. I've also counted how many cinder blocks make up this shitty little room. And I can't jerk off anymore. I think I'm going blind."

There was a long pause, then, "I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?"

"What are you jerking?"

". . . you don't know what jerking off is?"

"Apparently not."

"Whacking off, dealing with being male, greet the bishop, having a visit with Polly Palm and her five sisters, just you and your right hand man," Dean paused here, waiting for a reply and when none came added one more, "pulling the pork. And I swear, if you know that last one and none of the others, I'll go back to singing. I can cover the entire career of Metallica."

"Pork, si . . ." The X6 cut himself off before the whole word 'sir' could escape. The prisoner sounded exactly like X5-494.

"Thank God. Masturbation. Do you live under a rock? No wonder you're all so tense."

"There's no cause for it. It's a sign of mental weakness and lack of self control," was the stiff reply.

"That just explained everything about this place."

XXXXX

It was nearly three in the morning when they pulled into the rat trap motel. It wasn't John's, but they decided that they didn't want to get caught snooping around their father's room in the dead of the night. They could go over first thing in the morning. If they went for seven a. m., they wouldn't lose much time, and two hours of sleep was a hell of a lot better than none.

It amazed Sam how easily he fell back into the old hunting patterns of treating skuzzy motels like home and getting very little sleep, though that was a college thing as well. He was the reigning king of all-nighters among his circle of friends. After getting his two bags from the back seat, he unlocked the trunk, shoved his brother's bags out of the way and opened the weapons locker. He grabbed the empty bag that had long ago been dubbed simply 'the Overnight Bag' and started placing things into it. "Dude, you want anything in the Overnight Bag besides the old usual?"

494 was starting to realize that a whole lot of what the brothers said to each other was some sort of code. It wasn't deliberate most of the time. Just a way of having a perfectly normal conversation to cover things the rest of the world found alarming. Overnight Bag really meant 'Arsenal in a Sack.' And the 'old usual' meant 'which array of deadly implements would you like to bring home with you this evening.' What was worse was that if there was an 'old usual', then there were most likely variations on the theme. Was there an 'extremely paranoid' version and a 'we don't need to kill anything today light' version? "Nah. Same old's fine."

Sam settled two shotguns into the bag, along with Dean's favorite knife, some other knife that was just as mean, a box of salt shells for the shot guns, and a box each of the bullets he and Dean routinely used in their hand guns. On top of that, he tossed two small and manageable boxes of rock salt. He zipped the bag closed, slung it over his shoulder, then closed and locked up the locker.

As soon as it was closed, 494 ducked in next to Sam and grabbed Dean's bag and then closed the truck. "Room fifteen, dude," he said, and he tossed a key to Sam, who caught it and went ahead while 494 double checked to make sure the Impala was locked up safely.

Sam dumped all of the bags he was carrying onto the first bed without much thought, like he always did when he was the first one in the room. Either he'd get around to moving his bags once the room was secure, or Dean would toss them on the second bed. He then went and did a quick walk through, noting the air vents and the window in the bathroom. By the time Dean came in, there was already a half circle of salt about the entrance, just outside the reach of the door, because it scraped the carpet every time it opened or closed. Sam was busy salting the large window in the main room.

494 looked at where Sam had dropped his own bag, and with a shrug, dumped his on the other bed. He didn't really notice how this caused Sam's hand to stop moving or how the pile of salt where his hand stopped mounded and then spilt on to the floor. Sam was jerked back into action when 494 spoke. "Any other windows or anything in here?"

"Uh . . . yeah, one in the bath room and I think you'll be disappointed to find that there's no cable. But maybe you can find Oprah on a basic channel tomorrow. I know your day wouldn't be complete without it."

"I don't watch Oprah, dude." He snatched up the other box of salt, whapped Sam in the head with it, and went to line the bathroom window.

"Sure you don't!" Sam called as he put the box away and pulled out one of the shotguns, loading two shells in. They never traveled with a loaded gun unless it was on their person. He gave the bed with Dean's things on it a long, confused look, but brought his eyes back to what he was doing when the older man came out of the bathroom. "You wanna load the other shotgun? Or are you planning on making me do all the work?"

"Sammy, college had turned you into a whiner." 494 picked up the second shotgun and loaded two shells in. He set it by the head of his bed the way he'd seen Dean do every night. He picked Dean's knife out of the bag and dropped it onto his pillow.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam sniped back, and fished some loose sleep pants and a Marine issue .45 out of his own bag before setting all of the bags onto the floor at the foot of his bed.

"Hey, aren't you going to put the spare ammo in the drawer?" 494 pointed with his chin to the night stand. Dean always put the spare there.

"Yeah, sorry," Sam said with what might have been a relieved sigh. He grabbed the bullets and shells and dumped them into the drawer next to the ubiquitous Gideon Bible. After that, he yanked the covers down on his bed, checked the gun to make sure it was properly loaded, and shoved it under his pillow. With the unselfconscious efficiency of someone who had grown up in very tight quarters with two other men, he stripped off his clothes and pulled on his sleep pants. "You wanna set your watch for seven? That'll give us at least two hours of sleep," Sam asked as he crawled into bed.

"Sure, dude." 494 set the alarm on Dean's watch, because the place was too crappy to even have a room clock. He stripped to his boxers, turned off the light, and crawled into bed.

XXXXX

_Sam's eye snapped open and he was looking into a sterile white room. At first he though he might have been hurt on a hunt. It happened more often than any of the Winchesters cared to think about, so he turned his head to look for Dean or Dad, but saw neither. His head was killing him, and he raised a hand to rub at his head, but it didn't obey. He could feel his muscles willing to do the work, but there was something holding his arm down. Absurdly, he noted that his feet were bare, and that he was back in those pale blue scrub pants again._

_It was then that he realized that he was fully strapped down, and that this was not a hospital bed. He struggled to get free, but gained nothing except strained muscles and bruises. He opened his mouth to question what was happening, or maybe just to yell, but found it too dry to say or yell anything. _

_He could hear people talking about him, but was too panicked to make out what they were saying. Then his panic spiked even further as someone approached with a filled syringe. He struggled harder, knowing somehow that if he didn't get away, things would only get worse. He couldn't get away, though, because they injected the drug through an IV that was already running into his arm. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before. _

_Strangely, he could feel the exact moment the chemical hit his system. It seemed to burn its way straight to his brain. His eyes fell closed._

_When they opened again all he could see was fire. Eyes wide with fear, he backed away from it until his back hit_

the headboard of the motel bed with a thump. He sat there, panting harshly in the suddenly cool air for a long moment.

"Sammy? You okay?" 494 asked in what he hoped was a concerned brother voice, from the other bed.

Sam had to swallow several times to convince his mouth that it had enough moisture to speak, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to overcome the cottonmouth of the first part of the dream or the fire and heat of the second. "Yeah. Just . . ." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Just a bad dream."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." He wasn't sure at all.

"Try and get some more sleep." And with that, 494 settled back into his own interrupted sleep.

Sam sat there, staring into the dark room, until Dean's alarm went off.


	3. Chapter 3

I A/N: After this chapter, the annoying recap of the show will stop and we will be in all new material. Thank you and good night. /I 

Chapter 3

Sam sat up straighter in his seat as 494 pulled the Impala into the muddy motel parking lot. "Did he tell you which room he was using?"

"Ah, that would be a big old 'no,' Sammy."

"Okay. I don't see any tire tracks that are deep enough to be the Machismobile, so he's been gone for a few days, I guess." Sam reached into the back and pulled his leather satchel forward, and peered inside. 494 didn't know what he kept in there besides the laptop. "So what do you think, a little B and E, or talking to the office and hoping we guess the right alias?" He then made a satisfied noise and slid something up his sleeve.

"Let's take a look around first," 494 said. "It's harder to explain if we get caught if we've already talked to someone." He opened the door with a creak and hid his wince. The one thing he didn't like about this car was that it liked to announce its presence. He'd even tried to oil the doors, and it had made not a jot of difference. The car drew stares everywhere he stopped between Gillette and Palo Alto, but the drive through California had been much more low key.

Who knew? Maybe classic cars were more common out here. That would be the logical explanation. Something else, maybe the animal instinct that was an unspoken part of being an X5, told him otherwise. That voice said that maybe it had nothing to do with the state and more to do with the car and who was driving it. Maybe it knew 494 wasn't Dean, and that notice was something he didn't want. If it knew, then it sure as hell knew when Sam had showed up. There were more classic cars in California. That was it.

Sam seemed utterly unbothered by any noise the car made. He opened the door and unfolded himself from the car, closed the door, and then strode towards the row of rooms like he belonged there. 494 hung back a little, letting Sam take the lead. He must have done so in the past, because he seemed comfortable taking point. This was the first time he had seen Sam do anything but what he was calling 'the geek boy routine'. He'd seen Sam work on his schoolwork and sleep uneasily. Geek all the way.

This was different, though. This was a trained professional that knew what he was about. Sam walked along the sidewalk that masqueraded as a porch at just the right speed to peek into every window but not draw attention. He stopped outside the fourth room from the end. 494 came up behind him, casually blocking view for half the parking lot, and kept his hands in his pockets when he saw that Sam was easing a set of lock picks into the lock. He watched with interest as Sam disengaged the lock after only one or two small quick motions. 494 could tell he'd had a lot of practice, because not only was he quick at it, he had done it entirely by feel.

Even if Sam was boring, he knew his work. He slipped the picks from the lock and pushed the door open. Sam automatically lifted his foot and took a careful step over the salt line he knew would be by the door. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long for Sam to decide that John wasn't here, and 494 could conveniently lead him on a trail to Wyoming. Then he could have done with these nut jobs. Though if he were to be honest, Sam seemed pretty much sane, at least so far. He followed Sam's lead, stepped over the salt and closed the door.

His eyes adjusted instantly, and he took a look around. He saw circles of salt around the bed and table; something else was mixed in with the salt. The wall was covered with paper clippings. Sam was looking at the wall, so 494 took the time to go over the rest of the room. Nothing unusual was visible except for the salt and whatever the hell it was mixed in with it. And a fast food hamburger. Expired. 494's cat sensitive nose couldn't take it, and he dumped it into a handy trash basket and tied off the bag.

"So what do we have?" He went to stand beside Sam and look over what was tacked to the wall. It only took him a moment to pick out the system; Sam clearly already knew it.

"A Woman in White. But he didn't know who it was yet. Which means he didn't finish the job, so he left in a damned hurry."

"You sure he didn't know?"

"Come on, Dean. You know Dad better than that. He wouldn't have left the case up like this. It makes him look like a serial killer. Besides, there are cat's eye shells in his salt circles."

X5s were all pretty good at thinking on their feet, but 494 had a particular flair for lying that no one could quite account for. There was no gene that you could give someone that made them a good liar or concocter of bullshit; at least, no gene that anyone had found. But if it was going to be found in anyone, 494 would be the place to look. "Yeah, he must have been worried. Maybe she found him first." That didn't sound good; it implied that this thing, whatever the hell it was, had gotten the better of John. "Or at least found where he was."

"Yeah, maybe. If so, she must be strong, to leave her territory. She seems to stay on this five mile stretch." Sam pointed to the mark map. 494 concluded that he must have said the right thing, because Sam didn't seem to suspect. And what the hell was a cat's eye shell? "Did he leave anything? Any clues as to where he went?"

Sam turned and started systematically opening every drawer, so 494 did the same, starting with the nightstand and then moving to the bathroom. They came up empty handed. "Looks like everything is gone except for the case."

Sam had to agree. Dad had left the case, but taken all of his other belongings. That didn't say 'missing' to Sam, it said 'left'. Something wasn't right here. More than just his absent father. Dean was acting off. First the thing with the radio, then saying that Dad may have finished the job but left the case on the wall. Sam couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong yet. But something was definitely wrong. It had been a while since he had seen Dean, but not so long since he'd talked to his brother. They spoke nearly every week, and he was starting to get the feeling that this wasn't his Dean. That maybe he was looking for his father U and /U  his brother. For now, though, he would just watch and wait.

He sighed. "We might as well see what we can learn about this five mile stretch. If we follow the job, we follow Dad." He watched as 494 nodded, and resisted the urge to shake the not-Dean until his teeth rattled.

XXXXX

They had left the car by the edge of the road and were scanning the area with the EMF detector and camcorder. Sam seemed to know what he was doing; 494 thought he was doing a pretty good job of faking it. He was damned surprised when the EMF detector started to throw a fit. He was good at faking nonchalance, too, but Sam was going to catch on. No one had really counted on there being a 'case' to finish. Lydecker had figured that 494 would get Sam to leave with him, they would get to Jericho, and that he would arrange some sort of clue to lead Sam to Gillette. That left no need to know about things like EMF detectors or knowing what a Woman in White was. And yet here he was on a back country road at midnight, the witching hour, Sam had said with a laugh, looking for Electro Magnetic Field disturbances. And hell if he didn't find them.

Sam had come up behind him as soon as the damned meter had started squawking, and was looking over his shoulder with the camcorder. "Dude, you gonna stand there all day?"

"I'm going. Don't get your undies in a wad." 494 moved forward, still thinking that Sam was going to catch on soon. There were just too many unknown variables. He knew Dean's walk and speech patterns, but he knew jack shit about hunting ghosts, even if they were imaginary. So far he had been lucky and been able to bullshit well enough to fool Sam, because the kid hadn't called him on anything except the radio – not that he was sure what he'd done wrong there.

The EMF meter sounded like it was going to burn itself out when they hit the bridge, and he turned it off, figuring they couldn't get a better, or maybe worse, depending on how you looked at it, reading than constant. "She's been here all right. I'm betting this is where she died. Take a look." Sam handed him the camcorder, and 494 took it and looked at the little display screen the way Sam clearly expected. Then he wondered what the hell all the glowing balls of light were. "Holy shit," he said, and hoped that was the right response, because it was at least truthful.

"Yeah." Sam stood next to him as he lowered the camera and looked down over the edge of the bridge. "What I want to know is what she does with the bodies of the men she kills."

Honestly, 494 was sort of wondering that too. The ghost had to be a freakin' delusion, but one couldn't argue that there had been a lot of men missing here. He and Sam had seen Troy's car, and it had been dead empty, only a little pun intended.

"Maybe she drags them into the river with her." Sam continued to speculate, looking down into the water. It was late, nearly midnight, and getting a bit chilly. Sam shivered and shifted so he was looking farther onto the bridge.

Between one blink and the next, she was there, standing on the railing to the bridge. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that this was their ghost. She was beautiful, tall and slim, long dark hair, and obligatory flowing white nightgown. Sam was never clear on how that worked. Did the clothing of their ghostly forms just change, or did fate and circumstance allow them to meet their ends dressed for the weather, as it were? "Huh." He looked down at his watch, wondering if she had actually jumped at midnight, or if this was for show.

"Huh, what?" 494 was still looking over the rail, trying to fathom where the bodies went.

"Our Woman in White. I'm going to guess that this is how she went." Sam was watching her intently.

494 followed Sam's line of sight and managed to control his startle response. "When'd she get here?" He hadn't heard her. Even if she had been able to walk past him without him noticing, there was no way in hell that she could have climbed the railing like that.

Sam shrugged. "Just now. Do you think she does this every night?"

"How the hell should I know?" 494 was wondering how Sam could be so damned calm. 494 was not one to admit fear, but this was just flat out creepy.

She wasn't there. At least, not in the way people and objects were. She didn't have a human scent. He smelled water. She turned and pinned first Sam, who looked back unflinchingly, and then 494 with her eyes. Her gaze lingered on him for a long moment, and he shivered. There was nothing in her eyes. They were empty, not physically and not in the same way that a corpse's eyes were empty of life. They were just U empty /U , in an indescribable way, and that may have been the most frightening thing. His mind was just stuttering. This woman was a ghost. The Winchesters weren't crazy. This woman was a GHOST.

Instinct was telling him to bare his teeth and back away. If he had had the form to match his feline DNA, there would have been a line of fur raised from nose to tail, and all claws would have been extended. He didn't know it, but that DNA most likely made the situation worse for him. Humans could wrap themselves in lies to rationalize, but animals saw the truth of things and knew when they couldn't fight.

She looked 494 in the eye and then stepped off the bridge, her nightgown fluttering around her as she fell. Instinctively, they both leaned over the rail to watch her fall, but she was already gone. "Well, that was weird," was all 494 could manage, when he could finally manage anything.

Both their heads whipped around as they heard the Impala's engine start. "Dean," was all Sam managed as he pulled out his keys, just to be sure they hadn't been stolen somehow.

494 couldn't make anything coherent come out of his mouth, even though his mind was going at an insane speed. He pulled out Dean's keys and held them up. "What the fuck?"

"Huh," Sam said, as he was saying a lot lately, and the car dropped into gear and started for them. They both put their keys back into their pockets. "Run!" he said, and put his long legs to good use.

494 kept pace with him easily, but the car was going to run them down. He might have been able to outrun it for a short distance, or just simply back flip over it, but not Sam. "Sam! Over the rail!" He grabbed Sam's sleeve and dug in his heels, swinging both of them towards the bridge railing and a possible watery grave. In 494's eyes, death by broken limbs and drowning was far more appealing than having to tell the colonel that, yes, ghosts were real, and one of them had run Sam over.

Sam hit the railing hard and then scrambled over. 494 was simply not able to slow his momentum that well, though his cat reflexes kicked in as his hands hit the railing. He simply boosted himself up so he was doing a handstand of top of it, spun on one hand, and tucked his body back down to land in a crouch. His feet were braced on the edge of the bridge, and fingers gripped the lattice-work below the heavy railing.

Sam saw none of this, as he was busy clinging to a strut where he had caught himself before he fell. They both watched with wide eyes as the car slammed to a halt inches from the rail, headlights nearly blinding them.

"This sucks," Sam said breathlessly.

494 looked over. "You okay, Sammy?" He didn't want to be held responsible if the kid was broken. He started to reach over to help him and was pulled up short. Sam swung his body to the side until he hooked a foot under the lattice-work and started to haul himself up.

"Fine. Annoyed." He climbed over the rail. "I have to find a way to stop things from possessing the car."

494 scrambled over the rail. "What a bitch!" He started inspecting the car.

Sam did the same. "She seems fine. Let's get the hell out of here before something else happens."

"Yeah." 494 unlocked the door and slid the key into the ignition, even though it was already running, and waited for Sam to get in. Once Sam had settled, he threw the car into reverse and backed off the bridge, then turned her around and headed back to town.

XXXXX

If Dean was to judge time by his internal clock and the meals being served, the break in routine came on the third day. Two men about his own age or a little younger opened the door to his cell while he was doing what might had been his eight hundredth pushup of the day. He pushed himself to his feet and raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little short for Storm Troopers?" he asked, noting that he was taller than they were.

They blinked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Star Wars?" He received another blank look. "They don't let you out much, do they?" He surveyed the two before him. Both moved with a strange sort of ease that sat a little strangely on a human, but the people that had kidnapped him hadn't been normal, so there was no reason to assume anyone here was. That Mia chick had certainly put one hell of a whammy on him. Unlike Mia, they were both in winter camo pants and grey T-shirts, as well as standard military issue combat boots. Despite the heavy footwear, they made no noise as they walked. Each was holding a gun that clearly wasn't designed for normal ammunition. Both were outside of his reach. "Okay, you two need to loosen up. So what is this, my execution?" He was sincerely hoping not. In fact, he was hoping that he could maybe get out of this hole.

"We're taking you to the showers, ordinary." The guard backed out of the room with the gun trained on him, and the other gestured that he should move forward.

"Hell of a lot more pleasant then death. Don't suppose I get to go free after that?" He was met with stony silence. "Right, guess not." He went where they wanted.

"And don't try anything."

"You gonna shoot me? If you'd wanted me dead, you wouldn't be letting me clean up."

"We will shoot you. These are tranquilizer darts, and you'll be in restraints when you wake up. So don't try anything stupid, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get this show on the road, 'cause I think my clothes could walk on their own at this point."

"We noticed." At least one of them seemed to have a personality. They were both handsome, at least by Dean's standards, which might have been skewed as he wasn't in the habit of checking men out. Neither had a military haircut; the one on his left, the one with a personality, had neat and simple cornrows, the other was dirty blond with hair cut much like his father's. Despite the standard issue clothes, effort had been but into their hair. Appearance-wise, they could walk down the street and look like everyone else. This was a frickin' weird place.

"So what's the deal after this?"

"You stay quiet and do as you're told."

"Aw, now where the hell is the fun in that?"

"We could just shoot you now."

"No, I'm good, thanks. Take me to your shower." Clearly they didn't get that reference either. As they walked in silence, he made it a point to memorize their path and try not to think about how cold the cement floor felt against his bare feet.

The shower was communal, locker room style, but Dean really didn't care. He'd grown up in close quarters with two other men. If they'd been lucky enough to have an apartment, he and Sam had still had to share a room, sometimes with their father because all they could afford or scam was a one-bedroom. Dean had given up modesty in place of practicality. All he cared about was that the water was hot and they'd given him shampoo and soap; everything else was gravy. The room was empty aside from him and his two guards, and he was sort of figuring that it had been arranged that way on purpose. Clearly they weren't taking any chances.

Hell, he and Sam had often shared a bed until Sam had left for college. John never wanted then split up, so Sam and Dean never had a motel room to themselves, and neither one of them had ever wanted to sleep on the floor. Cheap places like they got hadn't even heard of the word 'rollaway'. When Dean turned fourteen, he had decided that he was old enough to have a bed to himself. John had obligingly bought a couple of sleeping bags and said that the three of them could take turns so that they all got a bed to themselves for two days. John only slept on the floor once before a wide-eyed Sam had said he'd rather just share every other night with Dean, rather than make Dad sleep on the floor. Dad was cranky when he had to sleep on the floor. So for a few days Sam and Dean had taken turns having the other bed.

They gave up quickly. First Sam had one of his grade A horror film worthy nightmares, and crawled into bed next to his big brother for comfort, and then a couple of nights later, the spare sleeping bag just didn't give enough padding between the floor and Dean's new bruises from their most recent hunt. After that, the sleeping bags just stayed in the trunk, and Sam and Dean went on like nothing had changed. No discussion was needed.

Things had gotten a little dicey when Dean had gradually put on height until he topped out at 6'1", but Sam wasn't a big kid, so he had just given Dean more space, pressing closer to the wall. Things got downright cramped when Sam had started to slowly gain height. Then he had that final growth spurt that shot him up to 6'4" so fast he had been left tripping over his own suddenly too long legs. The only reason Dean hadn't killed him for being taller was because he was too busy laughing at him for suddenly being a klutz. Sam had eventually gotten control of his new long limbs and relearned all of his combat skills pretty quickly after that. Neither one of them said a word as they tried to sort out how two people that were over six feet in height were going to share one double bed. In the end, someone got to sprawl across the bed, but they paid for it by having to be a pillow to the other.

Truth be told, not that he would ever tell anyone, when Sam had left for college, Dean had first reveled in having a full bed to stretch his 6'1" frame out on, but missed the living warmth of having Sam nearby and knowing that he was safe. He had worried about Sam for the first week or two. His baby brother was alone for the first time ever. Without backup, without protection, without his big brother. And then Sam had called. He'd called to complain, which was U so /U  Sammy, that his roommate had a conniption every time he changed clothes without trying to hide in the closet at the same time, and that he couldn't believe how much stuff people owned or moved in with them. After that, they would check up on each other once a week, whether they needed it or not.

By the time he had dried off – the guards kept out of reach of him and his towel – he found that his jeans and T-shirt were gone, though after living in them for three days nonstop he wasn't sorry to see them go. In their place, he found a set of pale blue scrubs, and socks. "Institution chic. I like it." One of his guards snorted, presumably in amusement. Or maybe in irritation. Dean hoped it was the second. If he had to be miserable, he hoped his captors were as well. He dressed, even putting the socks on to protect his feet from the cold. They would have to go if he were to make some sort of attempt at escape, because they made his traction practically non-existent. For now he wore them, since there was no reason to be cold. He figured that if they were willing to take him out of his cell and let him clean up once, they would do it again. If they meant to kill him, they wouldn't have wasted the scrubs on him. He put on his socks and then went where they directed him, which he noted was not back the way they came. For the moment, he was just trying to get the lay of the land. Next time, he figured he might try to test out the competition, and figure out what he was up against.

His new cell was just as Goddamned small and boring as his old one, but this one apparently came with a couple of paperback novels. Apparently, they really did mean to keep him for a while. He wondered if it was possible to use a paperback as an effective weapon. He figured he would have time to work on it as his cell door clicked shut.

XXXXX

The day just wasn't going the way 494 had planned. At all. He knew he was blowing his cover in a multitude of small unavoidable ways. That pissed him off, because he was good at his job. He was a good actor; he was good at details. He'd been pulled from deep cover missions because he was U too /U  good. Not because he was a fuck-up at pulling off the scam. There was a pause as he tried to remember the details of his last deep cover mission, but most of it was lost in a haze of reconditioning, and he shied away from the memories.

He just wanted to figure this mess out and find a way to get Sam moving toward Gillette and base. Instead, he had been picked up by the local cops as he left John's room. At least Sam had avoided capture. How embarrassing was that? He had been picked up by the local backwater cops.

494 slumped backwards in the hard wooden chair, wrists cuffed together in his lap, head hanging back as he stared up at the ceiling. "This is just great." The cops hadn't come back in yet, which gave him a moment to formulate a plan.

He went over his options in his head. He could make a break for it. That wouldn't be too difficult. Pick the lock on the cuffs or simply break them, as he was more than strong enough, and just cat-foot out a window. Hell, he could sit up in the rafters he was staring until they all bolted out the door looking for him. That might be problematic though. They'd have to dodge the cops for the rest of the so called ghost hunt. Or whatever this insanity should be called.

Then there was plan B. Plan B would be far more fun, and wipe the Winchester name off a record or two. That might be good. He sat up straight and let his irritation show and waited for the local point of authority to show its face again.

By the time the deputy sheriff showed again, 494 was almost as bored as he imagined Dean was back in his cell. He had his elbows resting on the table and his chin resting in one hand, wrists still bound together. He looked bored and sleepy, much like a cat. Utterly unconcerned.

"You might want to look alive, son, because you're in a bit of trouble."

494 let one eyebrow climb as if to say 'oh really.' What he actually said was, "I wanted to talk to you about that."

"I'm glad." This guy didn't seem like he had been glad about anything since before 494 had been born. "You can start all that talking by telling us where your two partners are, Dean." 494 let his other eyebrow join the first, wondering how they had come up with Dean's name, since he was pretty sure they didn't have John's. "I thought that might be your name," the deputy continued. He reached into a box and pulled out a worn leather journal, dropped it on the table, and then flipped it open. He turned it and slid it across the table in front of 494.

He looked at it, seeing Dean's name scrawled across the page and then underneath: 111, 32. It only took him a moment to figure out that they were coordinates. John was a military man, so it seemed logical. 494 grinned; John had just handed him the perfect way to get Sam to Gillette.

Deputy Jackson did not look pleased. "Let me lay this out for you. We have a growing list of missing persons, all of whom have a face stuck to that motel wall. We have a map depicting exactly where each one's vehicle was found, and a whole lot of the craziest Satanic babble I've ever seen. If you're aiding a serial killer, your goose is cooked. If you help us and tell us what you know, we might be able to work something less harsh out."

"That does sound pretty damning," 494 said agreeably.

"You gonna do the smart thing and talk?"

"See, here's where things get complicated. I can't tell you what I know. And I need you to let me go and get on with my job. We've been after this guy for a while. He's part of a much bigger picture, and I've been assigned to the case."

"Boy, do you actually expect me to buy that secret agent bullshit you're slingin'?" At least the guy seem amused. 494 figured he had improved the man's day.

"No, but I do expect you to run my ID."

"Uh huh."

"Come on, man, it'll save all of us time and aggravation. It's in my wallet."

"Right next to your fake ID, I'm sure."

"Uh, actually, yeah." He grinned up at the man. "I can promise you that the driver's license and all of that is trumped up, but the military ID is real. Wallet's in my back pocket. You want to uncuff me or get it yourself?" He didn't think the guy would be uncuffing him any time soon.

The cops sighed, figuring it wasn't worth it to keep going around in circles like this. He might as well call the kid's bluff. And he was a kid, looking like he was barely old enough to drink, if that old. No way he was working for any sort of agency. "Stand up, and if you try anything you'll be in lock-up and we'll forget you exist until dinner tomorrow."

With a slight sigh, 494 rose smoothly to his feet and held still while the cop took Dean's wallet out of his back pocket. Then he sat back down. He hadn't planned to try anything, but he still took the threat seriously. He had been locked up and denied food before. X5s could go for nearly a week without food and almost as long without water, but it was damned unpleasant and weakened them quickly. An X5 had a much faster metabolism than an Ordinary, and would eat nearly twice as much when given the opportunity.

494 watched as the man riffled through the wallet until he found the ID in question. It did look like a military ID, complete with reflective image and seal in the upper left hand corner and the kid's photo in the center, but some of the info was strange. It listed the kid as Army, and status was left blank, but rank was given as Company Command 2nd. There was no pay rank. It too was simply left blank. The section for his SSN said X5-331845739494, which was obviously too long. Instead of a signature, there was a phone number, and where the kid's name should have been it said simply 'call for verification.' The back of the card showed everything as it should be.

He didn't think it was faked. Why leave something blank when fake information could be filled in easily? Also, leaving a phone number was just an easy way to call a forger's bluff. The man looked up at the kid sitting there, perfectly calm. He sighed and pulled a second pair of cuffs out of a desk drawer and slapped one around the kid's already cuffed wrist and the other around the arm of his chair. "Just so you don't get any bright ideas."

"Whatever makes you happy, officer," 494 shot back with a grin. He settled back into his chair to wait, pulling the journal into his lap. Deputy Jackson left. As soon as he was gone, 494 began to flip through the journal. He started with the front cover, hoping to learn as much about John and his sons as was humanly possible. Instinct told him he couldn't afford any more mistakes. He didn't know what mistakes he had made, but he was sure he had made them. The problem was that Sam never reacted any differently, no matter what he did.

He looked down at the cover and noted all the medals and badge, some for service and some for skill proficiency. He had seen all of those in his mission brief. His eyes caught the corner of what looked like a photo, and he pulled it out. It was a wallet sized photo of a smiling woman in a sundress with long blonde hair. He tucked it back away.

494 began to leaf through the journal, wondering if you had to be a Winchester for the rambling to make sense. Then he paused to examine a drawing that looked interesting, and started reading the scribbles and jots around it. He found he could understand it, and that if he ignored that fact that it was about a creature that didn't actually exist, it would have been really informative. 494 understood it, and he decided he didn't want to know what that said about him.

Unfortunately, it seemed more like a guide to the supernatural than an actual journal, but he certainly frickin' read the page on Women In White and memorized every detail. He noticed the paper clip sticking out and thought about using it to pick the lock on the cuffs, but decided to wait. He was sure that Deputy Jackson would be letting him go as soon as he was off the phone.

Instead, he pulled the pen that had been tucked into the spine of the journal and flipped to the back where the message to Dean was written. He pulled a blank sheet out of the book and taught himself to copy John's hand writing. It only took two tries, and then 494 pulled out the page to Dean and forged one with Gillette, Wyoming's coordinates instead of where John had been trying to send them.

XXXXX

Sam was oddly glad that Dean or whoever that was had been picked up by the local 5-O. As a general rule, Sam was better at talking to the victims, even if the weirdness was nearly twenty years ago. Dean was too blunt. He didn't have to be; he knew how to take slow. He just never liked to. He was impatient, so Sam preferred to question people alone. If a gentle hand was needed, Sam went in first; if they needed brash confidence to carry a scam or cover off, Dean went in first. Sam wondered with some guilt and regret what Dean did now that Sam wasn't there. Sending John in was sort of like turning it into an official interrogation sometimes.

All that would have gotten them from Mr. Welch was a punch in the face. Sam had spent some time at the local library and managed to figure out who their Woman was. It hadn't been too hard. In a town this small, there just couldn't be that many women who threw themselves to their death from the local bridge. Constance Welch had been beautiful; her husband was right on that count.

He knew that the cops wouldn't be taking Dean anywhere because if they knew enough to pick Dean up, then they knew he wasn't alone, and Dean would remain here in custody while they tried to get him to talk. That meant that Sam had time to himself without Dean, or whoever, hovering. He was more and more convinced that the person he was with was not his brother, but he had to play it cool for now and wait until he had an undeniable advantage. He'd made sure he behaved perfectly normally, and he could keep it up for a few more hours.

Sam turned his attention back to the article and stared at it blankly for a few moments, then pulled out his cell phone and hit the third number on his speed dial before he could think better of it. After three rings, his father's voice mail picked up. He listened for a second just to hear his father's voice, then snapped his phone closed and stared at it morosely. After a long minute, he opened it and dialed again, this time staying on the line when the message ended. "Hi, Dad. It's Sam. I was just hoping that you would answer, though I guess that was pretty stupid since you're missing, but I can hope. It's just that . . . you're missing and I think Dean is too. I don't know who this is that I'm with, but I just don't think it's Dean. No one's tried to hurt me or anything, it's just this bad feeling I have. I don't know." He sighed. "I know you don't want to talk to me, but . . . oh, never mind. I hope you aren't dead." And he snapped the phone closed.

He sat there with his phone in his hand for a long moment, much like his father had done, not that he knew it, and then stood abruptly. Time to get this Dean look-alike free, because he wasn't digging up Constance's grave alone.

XXXXX

Both X5-494 and the Deputy Sheriff looked up as another officer stepped into the room, clearly in a rush. 494 had long ago been uncuffed, and now he and Jackson were 'going over the case', which was mostly the Deputy going over what he knew. That wasn't bad, given that he was after a Winchester who seemed to have a natural God-given talent for scatter-and-evade. The X5 would offer an opinion here and there, just enough to keep the local law enforcement guessing. 494 wanted them confused and to keep their damned noses out of this.

No one at Manticore cared about John. 494 figured that they wouldn't want anyone else like himself and 493. He had noticed that there were no children in any of the newer X series based on his genetic code. It was flawed, he knew, and it wouldn't have surprised him if Renfro had had him sterilized at some point just to prevent him from ever breeding. However, the Colonel had made it clear that they had a vested interest in Sammy. Questions about John led to Dean and Sam, and 494 was trying to avoid that. People that asked too many questions about Manticore died, and 494 didn't want to kill anyone today. He was feeling lazy.

The officer in the doorway looked a little confused and frantic. "Sir, we just got a 911 call about shots fired behind the Pierce place."

"What? What the hell is happening to this place?" He stood abruptly, turning to the young man sitting at the table. "We gotta deal with this. Give me a call if you need anything." And the Deputy bolted out of the room.

The X5 sat there for a long moment and then grinned. Maybe Sammy wasn't quite as boring as he thought. He was almost positive the call was fake, because a simple domestic violence type shooting wouldn't requite the Sheriff or Deputy unless it was an unusual occurrence. And if it was, it brought the timing into question. 494's day was perking up quite a bit. After all, why would Sammy buy him a way out of incarceration if he didn't believe 494 was his brother.

XXXXX

It didn't take 494 long to walk from the police station to his and Sam's motel room. He let himself in, being careful of the salt, and sure enough Sam was there waiting.

"Took you long enough to get here," Sam quipped as soon as the door closed.

"You could have picked me up. Nice with the fake 911 call."

"I know. I'm a genius." Sam grinned.

494 fished around in a bag until he got a bottle of water and a bag of peanut M&Ms. He was starving, and even Dean's candy sounded good right now. "Why'd it take you so long to call?"

"I waited on purpose. In the beginning they would have been busy watching how you reacted to being arrested and then with your interrogation. In a small town like this, that would have damned near enthralled every cop on duty."

"Did you just use the word 'enthralled' in casual conversation?"

"Shut up, jerk. That would have kept them busy, which meant that I had freedom to move. I found out who our jumper is and where she's buried." He nodded over to the new mark on the map, a red circle at the end of Beckenridge Road. There was also a computer generated printout of an article on Constance Welch.

He looked at the article for a moment, then turned to Sam, pulling the journal from inside Dean's coat. "Good thing I got picked up, though. Got this from the local point of authority." He held the journal up and then tossed it into Sam's hands when he held them out for it. "Look in the back," he directed, as he slipped Dean's jacket off and slung it over a chair.

Sam did as he was told, and his jaw tightened a little upon seeing the message. "More of his damned Marine crap. Don't suppose you know where this is?" Sam didn't seem to expect an answer, so 494 made sure to not provide one. "Right. We can look it up after we toast this bitch." Sam snapped the journal closed and ran his fingers over the cover and the pins on it. He had been fascinated by them when he was little. What sort of stories went with each one. Those stories had been the Winchester version of a bedtime tale, because monsters and brave knights had been his normal life. Even if the knight carried a shotgun instead of a sword most of the time. Sam was the only one of the three of them that could handle a sword effectively.

"Might as well get dinner and wait until after dark at this point," 494 suggested. "Stay out of sight."

"Yeah, we can order pizza or something. No point in tempting fate." His eyes caught the corner of the same picture that had caught 494's attention early. He pulled it out and gave it even less attention than 494 had. He had slipped it away again like he used to see it all time. 494 tossed the bag of M&Ms onto the nightstand and hunted around the room until he found a phone book, then looked for a pizza place that would deliver. He wondered how the hell Sammy and Dean stayed so thin eating this sort of crap.

Sam looked down at his dad's journal, John Winchester's Bible, and his mind couldn't let go of the photo of his mother. It didn't belong there. It belonged with his father. It was one of the few pictures of her that had made it out of the fire. Dean had one of the four of them together. Sam had one at school of his father with his arms wrapped around his mother. His father was smiling, maybe even laughing. Sam had never known Mary, so it was hard to miss her, especially when Dean knew what Mom had done for him and he made sure that Sam received that same sort of care. It was hard to miss his Mom because Dean filled in. But Dad . . . he missed knowing a man that could laugh like that. He wished he had known his father when he had been happy.

XXXXX

John had gotten himself a new journal, an atlas of the U.S., and a wide array of colored post-it notes. He was finally putting together a pattern. All it had taken was one fire. One dead mother and one heartbroken father. John had gotten there just in time to stop the man from giving his little girl up. He had thought he was losing his mind, and was going to give her away because he thought it would have been the best thing for her.

John had been able to convince him of the truth. It hadn't been hard. After all, how many people knew exactly how this demon killed? The details were a little weird. He showed the man how to salt himself into a safe room and the few protection symbols that could be used without any sort of real education, then sent him to Pastor Jim. He'd called ahead to tell Jim to expect them and to please try to convince the man that taking John's path wasn't the way to go. John knew that Sammy may never forgive him for giving him nothing steady or normal in life, and hoped that he could prevent that sort of rift from happening to someone else. There were lots of ways to fight evil without being a warrior.

Then John had set to work with the first solid lead he had had in nearly twenty years. He had found a lot of irregularities in the area in the two weeks preceding the fire. Abrupt shifts in weather. Lightning storms with no rain. Animals going missing and then turning up dead in some truly bizarre ways. The entire block around the little girl's house had had a nasty frost far too late in the year. The rest of the city was unaffected. Notes were written on the post-its and stuck to the map. Theories sprawled across the journal pages.

He was closing in on the bastard, and knew that if he answered the phone when he saw Sammy's number, he would want to go back to his children. So he just let it ring and go to voice mail. He would listen to it later, when he knew they would have moved on from Jericho. When he knew it would be too late to catch up with them.

XXXXX

Sam slipped from his bed by the door onto the floor. From under his pillow, he pulled the .45 and the knife he had put next to it earlier, after they had finished with Constance. The gun didn't have silver bullets in it, so they might not kill the shifter, but very few things could get up after being shot with a Winchester Black Talon hollow point bullet. If he needed to kill the shifter, the knife with its heavy silver inlay behind the edge would do the trick.

He ghosted across the small space separating the beds and simultaneously aimed the gun and laid the edge of the knife against the imposter's throat. He watched its eyes snap open. "Where's my brother?"

XXXXX

Timetowste- Thanks. I really try to get Sam and Dean's full relationship into the picture, because so much of there communication isn't with words. It's a look, or facial expression or small movement of their hands. I think a lot of people that are close to each other communicate that way. I know I do. And it's important here because 494 has no way of knowing or learning those nuances.

Shadow000- I was proud of myself for the Mia thing. First I love her. She was awesome in the show. And she was the only way I could think of to get Dean to talk with out actually torturing him and I didn't think he'd spill during torture.

Also thank you so very much for that comment about the scene breaks. They were there originally there, but FFN ate them totally. Since when does it not allow any special characters?

Storm Silverhand- Mixing the worlds was easier than I thought it would be once I was willing to through timelines out the window. I did it because there are things I like about both world so I didn't want to just pluck up the characters for one world and move them to another.


	4. Chapter 4

I So here it is. Chapter 4. Finally. I do apologize for the ridiculously long wait. I'll try not to let that happen again. This chapter is a little short because I thought that people might prefer that to me beating my head against a wall for another week or so.

Oh, and the X5Rs? I totally didn't make them up. It's from the "Eye's Only Dossier". /I 

Chapter 4

Several thoughts crossed 494's mind, one right after the other without time for pause or reflection. The first was that someone, he realized it was Sam as soon as he opened his eyes, was holding a knife to his throat. And Sam was doing it in a very professional manner. The edge was pressed to his skin without trembling, which was what you would get from an amateur. Sam was applying just enough force to make it a promise of injury, not a threat, but wasn't drawing any blood. Sam must have been damned comfortable with the weapon to balance on that fine line.

His second thought was to note that Sam also had a gun trained on him with the other hand. He clearly thought that 494 was too dangerous to trust to one weapon.

He was right, and that brought 494 up hard against his third thought of how the hell had Sam figured out that he was too dangerous for just one weapon? While he was on the topic of Sam figuring things out, how had he figured out that 494 wasn't Dean? Or at least with such certainty. He had figured that it would take Sam a few more days to really start to doubt and then maybe some more time on top of that before he started trying to bring anything to light.

It seemed like Sam was skipping that and heading right for 'kill the imposter.' This mission was going so far sideways that it was falling off the map.

"What the hell is wrong with you, dude?" 494 figured his best chance was to try to bluff. Maybe Sam had been hit on the head or something.

"What's wrong with me is that I am in a motel room with something that is claiming to be my brother, but isn't." Sam looked dead certain. 494 was pretty sure that there wasn't a doubt in his mind, but what choice did he have except to play on the fact that the kid might not be willing to risk actually killing Dean?

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head earlier?"

"Dude, you aren't Dean. I'm sure. You may have his walk and smirk, but you're not him. You aren't fooling me."

"Then why aren't you shooting me?"

"Because you also have his clothes and weapons. Hell, you have the Impala. That means you have Dean, and I can't find him if I've stabbed you in the heart. Not that you'd be walking away from a bullet either, though."

"What makes you so damned sure that I'm not him?" 494 let his voice sound irritated. It wasn't faked. He was pinned and that annoyed the hell out of him. He couldn't even make a move for the gun, because Sam had the pressure on the knife nice and steady.

"You want the fucking list?"

"You have a list?" 494 couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

"Yes."

"All right. Give me the list."

Sam was a little taken aback at this response. He blinked at 494 for a moment. "You actually want me to give you a list?" This was clearly not what he had been expecting. 494 would give him points, though; the damned knife at his throat never wavered. And the kid obviously thought the knife was the more deadly of the two weapons. 494 wondered why.

"Yeah, I want you to give me the damned list. Obviously you aren't going to stop acting like an idiot until we've worked through it point by point."

Sam shrugged a little, but didn't take his eyes off 494 at any point. "Fine. You're in the wrong bed."

494 just blinked at him. "I'm what?"

"You're not my brother, because he would have never slept in the bed farthest from the door. I'll work backwards from how I noticed things. You have his ring, which I'll want along with his pendant, but you don't have the bracelets."

"They got caught on something and broke. No biggie."

"Bullshit."

Okay, so there was clearly more to those than met the eye. Great. 494 just let it go. The kid had him and they both knew it. Now that he was getting a really good look, the kid was wearing a bracelet that could have come from the same place or been made the same way, so there was definitely something important about them. He wasn't surprised that he hadn't noticed before. Sam wore layers, usually at least three, and at least one was always long sleeved.

"You didn't understand the message Dad left for us. You should have gotten that before me. Fuck, you should have cared more than me. I was already suspicious anyway though, right from when we got into the car the first time."

"Why is that?"

"I wasn't dying and you let me pick the music."

"Maybe I was just being a considerate brother."

"Dean, music, and considerate don't go together unless I'm dying or at least feel like I'm dying. So what the fuck is this all about and where is Dean?"

"Are you obsessed?"

"What?"

"Seriously, do you know his every habit? Which foot he puts his first sock on?"

"His left. You don't know us very well, do you?" There was a pause as Sam's forehead furrowed, his eyebrows climbing a little in shock. "You don't know us very well. Who are you?"

494 instantly noticed the change in the question, from what are you to who are you. "You're insane. You know that, right? Do you stalk your brother? How the hell can you know his every damned habit so well?"

"In case you've missed the memo, I'm the one that has you pinned to the bed with a gun aimed at your left lung and a knife at your throat."

"I had caught on to that, yeah."

"Then you might want to start answering my questions. Where's my brother?"

"You're not going to kill me." And that 494 was sure of. He didn't know if Sam was a killer, if he would actually pull the trigger or slit his throat now that Sam didn't think he was some sort of thing anymore. Too bad Sam sort of had it right with the first guess, but his mistake was 494's gain. Regardless, he was sure that Sam wouldn't kill him until he knew about Dean. That gave 494 a pretty easy hand to play. "But if you let me sit up, I might be willing to answer your questions."

He watched as Sam clearly put thought into this and then nodded. He shifted his weight back and then pulled the knife away, immediately reversing his grip on it with an expert twist so that the back of the blade lay along his forearm, making it both nearly impossible to get away from him and ready for defensive use.

That split second was all 494 needed. His hands blurred as one swept out to yank the gun from Sam's grip and the other shot up and forward to slam into Sam's chest, knocking him back. Sam stumbled but kept his feet, and slid into a defensive stance. By then 494 had the gun reversed and pointing at him.

"Is this where you try to bluff me into thinking you'll kill me?" Sam asked.

"I could shoot to injure, you know."

"Not really with those bullets. If you're going to shoot me and don't mean to kill me, use a different gun."

"You were willing to try to wound me with it."

"If you had been a shifter, like I thought you were, you would have recovered quickly."

"You thought I was a what?"

"A shapeshifter."

"This is insane."

"No, what's insane is that it's one thirty in the morning and I'm having a Mexican Standoff in a motel called the 'Rise and Shine Motor Lodge.' With someone who looks frighteningly like my big brother and yet isn't a shapeshifter, but I know isn't human and sure as fuck isn't Dean. So what's the deal, because killing me isn't it. Why go through all of this just to do . . . what the hell are you doing?" Sam sounded frustrated and upset. He wasn't overly emotional, 494 noted; he was still thinking with his head, but this was clearly someone who was not used to being confused or in the dark. 494 suspected that Sam would pass from frustrated to pissed off pretty quickly. "And where's Dean? What have you done to him? If he's hurt, you'll wish you'd never met us."

"Look, kid, you aren't in a position to be making threats."

"It wasn't a threat; it was a promise."

494 reformulated. Sam was already pissed, but it was on behalf of his brother, not himself. The two must have been closer than Lydecker knew. 494 wanted to avoid all of this emotional crap. "Look, you want the truth?"

"Yes, I want the truth!"

"I'm kidnapping you. I'm not one of your supernatural monsters. This really is the way I look, the way I was born. I kidnapped your brother after stalking him across the country to learn how he acts and then took his place. Once we had him in custody, I took his clothes and his car and now I'm kidnapping you." 494 sat back with a slight smirk on his face, waiting to see what the kid was going to do with this. The worst he could do was bolt, and 494 knew he was faster.

"What's your name?" Sam asked, after watching him for a long moment. Sam didn't stare; he watched, and it was somehow very different.

"What?" That hadn't been what he had expected. In fact, it was about as far from it as you could get.

"What's your name? I'm not going to keep calling you Dean."

"My designation is X5-494." It was almost automatic.

"That's not a name."

"It's how I'm identified."

"That's great. That's just great." He clearly thought is was anything but. "So . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. 494 found it interesting that he seemed to be relaxing. "Why are you kidnapping me?"

"Because that's my assignment."

"Is that military idiot for, 'don't know, don't care'?"

494 sat up fully and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Are you always this obnoxious?"

"Look, I'm the one being kidnapped."

494 paused. "Fair enough."

Sam paused again, thinking, then abruptly stood, walked over to his bed, and pulled out the sheath for his hunting knife, then sheathed it. He grabbed his bag and started tugging his clothes on. "Are you taking me to the same place you're holding Dean?"

"Yeah. What are you doing?" 494 asked, stymied by Sam's utterly irrational behavior.

"Getting dressed." He fastened his jeans and then slipped the knife into the back like it spent most of its time there. This was the first time 494 had actually watched him get dressed. He noticed a wide array of interesting scars mapping over the nineteen year old's body before he started layering on his shirts. "I'm not being kidnapped in boxers." He bent and tugged his socks and sneakers on. Then he started efficiently tossing his things back into his bag. "You might want to get dressed too, unless you like kidnapping people in your shorts. Please tell me those are yours, because it would be too weird if you stole his boxers too."

"Are you insane?" 494 couldn't think of any reason for Sam to be doing this.

"Possibly. But see, the way I figure it," he paused, facing 494 squarely, "is that I can't get to Dean unless I go with you, and the easier I do that, the faster I get to him. Unless you want to just tell me where he is?" When 494 didn't answer he went on. "I didn't think so."

"You're actually going to come along willingly?" 494 still had the gun trained on the kid, but he didn't seem all that concerned.

"Well, I have some conditions."

"And what are those?" 494 was lamenting the fact that his education had not included hostage negotiation. Though right now he wasn't quite sure which one of them was being held prisoner.

"I want his ring and pendant. They aren't meant for anyone but him, so I want those back now. And I drive. You can tell me where to go highway by highway for all I care, but I drive."

"No way am I giving up driving that thing." He could have sworn Sam suddenly looked almost pained.

"Dude, you don't get it, do you." Sam looked at him like he might be stupid.

"Ah, no, I guess I don't."

Sam turned away, gathering up the few things that had been left out, but he clearly did not want to have to say this to 494's face. "You driving the car. It's like . . . coming home and finding a complete stranger sleeping in your bed. It's . . . invasive. I mean, it's bad enough that you, whoever the hell you and your bosses are, have taken my brother and are taking me prisoner or some shit."

"It's a car. It's an awesome car, but it's just a car." 494 felt that he was defiantly missing something. He felt that a lot lately.

"No, it isn't. It's my home. I grew up in that car. It's the only permanent place I've ever had." He turned back around then and 494 got a look at his face, which was still stoic, but his eyes were different; 494 felt like he had just had the carpet taken out from under him. But he could stand firm. Or at least compromise. He took off the pendant and the ring and held them out to Sam. "You aren't driving, though. No way in hell." Sam snatched them from him and laced the ring onto the cord with the pendant, then put both in his pocket. 494 found it interesting that he didn't just put them on. "And you can't fricken be armed, either. You carry that thing all the time?"

"The way most people wear a watch." Sam waited impatiently for 494 to stand and dress. He was almost eager, it seemed. 494 was convinced that all the Winchesters were certifiable. It must be nice to have someone that devoted to you, he mused, and then shook the thought off. "What the hell are you still sitting there for?" Sam finally snapped.

"You to ditch the knife. And the car keys. You aren't driving." Sam glared at 494, but he wasn't about to budge. "Cough them up or I'll take them and tie you up in the backseat."

Sam's chin came up in what had to be one of the most stubborn and challenging expressions 494 had ever seen. He would have called it arrogance, but he had seen the kid move at this point, and knew how well he could handle his own body and a weapon. It wasn't arrogance, it was confidence, and against a human opponent, 494 was willing to bet that Sam would come out on top. He felt his own chin come up, matching the expression. Apparently it was in the genes, because he knew it was the same look. It was in the slight tilt of the head and the tightening of the jaw.

Then 494 was moving. Sam was fast but the X5 was faster. The fight was short, fast, and dirty. 494 would give him credit, though. He hit hard and mean. He went right for the vital spots and 494 would be sporting some deep bruises where he had either taken the shot or deflected. "You're good, kid. So was your brother. He did better, but I think that's only because he was willing to kill us."

"You can't tell me where he is if you're dead," Sam snarled, sounding, in 494's opinion, almost as feral as an X5. He was pressed face down on the floor with 494's knee and weight pressing into the small of his back, incidentally pressing the knife hilt into both Sam's back and 494's knee, his hands pinned by the wrists above his head.

"Nope, and that works out pretty well for me," the X5 said as he shifted enough to use his free hand to take the knife and then fish through Sam's pockets for his keys to the Impala. "Now that we've both gotten this out of our systems, if I let you up, can we play nice?"

"Yeah." Sam sounded more tired than anything else. 494 shifted his weight off the younger man and let go of his wrists, and they both quickly rolled to their feet. 494 scooped the gun back up on his way.

"I still don't understand why you're just going along with this. Aside from that little display of machismo," the X5 asked.

"If I fought you, really fought you, would it get me anything besides hurt?"

"Well, no. At the moment, it would most likely get you shot."

Sam snorted. "If you shot me with that gun, it would get me dead. I'm too damned skinny to live through one of those bullets."

"What do you have in here?"

Sam smiled; it was very similar to Dean's. "Winchester Black Talons. If I have to shoot something from my bed, I want it to stay down while I get up and figure out how to kill it."

"And you were going to shoot me with them?" 494 asked, a little incredulous and suddenly glad that Sam wasn't prone to snap decisions. He knew what those bullets could and would do, and it wasn't pretty.

"If you had been a shifter, you would have lived through it."

"That's so comforting."

"Would you put some fucking clothes on? I want to at least see that Dean's okay." There was a slight pause, and Sam gave 494 a worried look. "He is okay, isn't he?"

"We didn't hurt him. The last time I saw him, he was just in a really bad mood." He pulled his pants on with one hand, the other still holding the gun.

XXXXX

The Demon loved humans. He loved nearly everything about them. They had ingenuity, and were damned fun to watch. But he hated wearing them. Ill-fitting meat suits. He didn't understand how his children did it for so long. One even seemed to enjoy it. She did pick attractive forms, it was true, but nonetheless they seemed constricting to him.

That was the other thing about the human form. It didn't stand up to power very well. It just burned them out, and he needed to keep this body. So he had kept his power mostly to himself for eighteen years as he worked on his agenda from a more Machiavellian angle. He had found this charming Manticore project and it hadn't taken much effort to possess a Committee member and angle things for his own gain. He needed psychics and these people were hand-building people, soldiers, to order. He used the Committee to submit a request. He had them build psychics.

Of course this hadn't worked out so well, but you couldn't fault a demon for trying. It wasn't like he had abandoned his other prospect in the mean time. He had been working on that one for nearly a thousand years. Humans were dedicated like that.

He and his children had kept an eye out for natural psychics as well. He had found a fair number over the years. Some much more promising than others. Those children he worked his own magic on. It wasn't all that hard, really. Some fire, some blood, a sacrificial mother or two, and he was in business.

Speaking of business, he figured that John Winchester's youngest would be here soon. If there was one thing that the Demon loved more than humans, and power, it was irony. John had helped create the perfect little soldier that was stealing his youngest from him. The Demon grinned, thinking that the warm fuzzy feeling must be satisfaction.

XXXXX

494 didn't know how Sam managed to be so irritating by doing nothing. The kid was just sitting there. He hadn't spoken a word. He had barely moved. He just sat slouched down there in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, and stared out the passenger side window. 494 had always thought the phrase 'dark cloud' was metaphorical, but he was starting to rethink that. He could feel the one Sam was generating pressing down on him. It shouldn't be possible, but he swore he was about to be crushed. Sam wouldn't reply to anything he asked, even if it was 'Are you hungry?' or 'do we need to stop to use the bathroom?'. If he had waited for Sam's input, they both would have exploded. Maybe that was what Sam was hoping for.

"If I let you drive, will you stop trying to crush me under your angst?" He couldn't take it anymore. Sam must have been a terrible child to raise if he had always thrown fits like this. Then again, maybe that was normal. 494 had to admit to himself that he had no idea how normal children were raised. There were very few X5s aggressive enough to have any sort of temperamental fits when they were children. 494 had only done it once. The two days in solitary without food had left him feeling weak and even more cranky, but he knew better than to voice objections after that. He liked food.

"What?" It had taken a minute for 494's words to filter into Sam's worried brain. He couldn't figure a way out of this mess. He was pretty sure he could get away from the other man, but that wouldn't help him find Dean, and that was his primary goal. Hell, it was his only goal. Before, he had been worried about his father as well, but as soon as he had seen the journal, it had transmuted to anger. He was still worried about the man, but he was fucking pissed too. His dad had left. On purpose. Without Dean. He had left without Dean. How the fuck could the man do that to his oldest son? Being an ass to Sam was one thing. But Sam didn't live for his family the way Dean did. Well, Dean lived for his family and vanquishing of evil. And maybe sex.

"I said, if I let you drive, will you stop trying to crush me under your angst?" 494's tone was exasperated. This entire trip was trying his patience and too fucking weird by far.

"Give me the driver's seat and we'll find out."

X5-494 sighed and pulled the car over, pulling Dean's gun and pointing it at Sam. "We trade places, and if you try anything, I will shoot you. These bullets won't leave holes so big that it'll kill you. And I'm a trained field medic, so don't think I won't shoot."

He watched Sam, who was giving him an assessing look. "Fine." He opened the door and unfolded himself from the car. 494 matched him and they both moved forward to cross paths at the nose of the car. They got back in and Sam ran his hand over the wheel, then across the dashboard in greeting. Then he eased the car back onto the road. This time, 494 was almost positive the car purred in satisfaction.

After a few minutes, Sam reached into the back seat, and 494 brought the gun up. "Relax, I'm just getting the tape box." He brought it up into the front with him. He rifled through it while keeping an eye on the road, then put a tape in.

494 made a face at the Styx album falling from the speakers and reached toward the tape deck to end his misery. Sam sent him such a glare, he actually paused in his motion. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." He turned fully to the nearly empty road. "That was your first mistake. Driver picks the music." After that, Sam lapsed back into his determined silence.

It was going to be a long fricken drive.

XXXXX

Madame Renfro's nails tapped in irritation against the glass of her desk. Things had not been conforming to her careful plans of late. X5-494 was difficult enough to handle as it was, and now he had been deployed on a mission that Colonel Lydecker did not believe he was properly able to manage.

She and good old Deck may have mixed about as well oil and water, but she was willing to admit that he knew his business when it came to the X5s. Some of them were much more volatile than others. 494 had been a problem since he was old enough to know what the word 'disciplinary' meant, and X5s learned remarkably quickly, and young.

Across her desk she had 494's file spread out. It was without a doubt the thickest for any one X5. Something would have to be done, and soon. But she would have to arrange it very carefully. He was a unit commander and one of Lydecker's favorites. These were not obstacles to be taken lightly.

She flipped through his numerous notes from neuropsychology almost idly, fingers tapping again. Her eyes traveled over her cluttered desk. She had asked for all information pertaining to X5-494, and that was exactly what the archivist had delivered. Not only 494's personal file, but all the information on every assignment and mission he had ever participated in. Her eyes paused on the folder containing all information on one Dean Winchester, who was still in custody. She smiled as an idea started to unfold in her mind.

XXXXX

494 tapped along with the music, unintentionally doing a pretty good impression of Dean. He was not made to sit like this, unmoving for hours. And the silence, aside from the music, was starting to get to him. He figured he might as well start a conversation, because otherwise the trip from California to Wyoming was going to kill him. "So what the hell's with all the rock salt?"

Sam gave a small, mostly unhappy laugh, and waited for 494 to get on with his commentary. When he didn't, Sam looked at him for a very brief second before returning his gaze to the road. "You're serious, aren't you."

"Yeah, I'm serious. I'm surprised you guys haven't dried up from all the salt around you."

"You didn't do any research into the supernatural before impersonating my brother?"

"Until that ghost or whatever that thing was, I thought your brother was crazy."

Sam sighed. "Woman in White. Salt is a purifier. Unclean spirits and demons can't pass over it. You use it to seal them out of your room by lining the doors and windows. If you're nervous, circle the bed."

"Demons? Are you telling me that demons are real?"

"Yeah. Most things you can think of are."

"But salt keeps you safe from them." 494 sounded as skeptical as he felt. He was hoping that the salt did protect them, though. It would make him feel less vulnerable.

"Salt keeps you safe from spirits and demons. Not from everything." For the first time since they'd started driving, Sam didn't sound sullen to 494. He sounded like he was doing a guest lecture series.

"You thought I was a shapeshifter, you said." 494 figured he would give the kid a chance to do something besides generate his own weather system. "What made you decide I wasn't? And how do you stop them from getting in?" Totally a plus, if he learned a few more survival skills.

"You didn't know us. A shifter takes the memories of the form it copies."

"Must be handy."

"That's one thing to call it."

"So what's the big deal? A little identity theft." He thought about how he had so easily slipped into the role of Simon Lehane, piano teacher, but nothing showed on his face besides mild interest.

"They're evil. At least any that we know about. They eventually kill the original. They often move in and steal everything about a person. Including their family. They're often untraceable serial killers. They pick a certain sort of victim and literally shed their skin between kills. It's pretty gross. Skin, hair, and teeth."

"Yeah. I get the idea." What really came to mind was the feel of Simon's neck snapping under his fingers, and the crime scene photos from 493's – Ben, his mind supplied automatically – murders. The missing teeth. He had the idea all right, and he wasn't liking it. "And they can't be killed by bullets?" That just didn't make any sense to him. He couldn't think of anything that he couldn't kill if he shot it enough.

"They can if it's a silver bullet." Sam shrugged. Like this was entirely logical.

"Silver." Call 494 a little skeptical. He'd back it up. "Why silver? It would make crappy bullets. Silver is too soft," he said, as if that was the only problem with this.

"Silver works on all shifters."

"There's more than one kind of shifter? I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Are they allergic to it?"

"Werewolves are shifters. They're the most common kind. And the silver isn't a chemical thing. It's what it means. It's a . . . a spiritual thing." Sam was keeping his eyes on the road, but his little black cloud was lightening a bit. 494 was grateful for it.

"Uh huh."

"Dude, silver represents the moon. Which shifts in phases." Sam snuck a look at 494, who just blinked at him, so he continued his dissertation. "Nothing can permanently hurt a shapeshifter because their bodies are constantly changing and reforming. Or that's the theory. The moon rules all shifters. Silver represents the moon. So, spiritually speaking, it shifts too. A shifter can't escape it."

494 amended his earlier assessment. It was going to be a long, weird ride.

XXXXX

Colonel Lydecker watched Bravo Unit work flawlessly through their morning drills. It was the smallest of the three regular Units, having lost so many to reindoctrination after the twelve from Alpha Unit escaped ten years ago. Most of the X5Rs had been reassigned outside of their previous units, no longer fit to mixing with the undamaged X5s.

This particular unit was under his direct command. He personally chose and commanded their missions and assignments. The Alpha and Charlie units had been delegated out to others, and many of the X5Rs were still under Parker's command. This was the unit that X5-494 belonged to and Lydecker couldn't help but think that things would not be going smoothly with his return.

This was a mission that he was both uniquely designed for, but the blade cut both ways, and after watching the Winchester they had in custody, Lydecker got the feeling that blood as well as genetics would tell.

XXXXX

494 slowed the Impala as he pulled up to the manned perimeter gate guarding Manticore's Gillette base and handed the guard, an Ordinary, his ID. He knew there was a list of all field trained operatives out on missions kept at each guard station, and after a moment the guard returned his ID with a respectful nod and opened the gate. Neither she, nor her fellow on the other side of his car made any comment on the young man slumped, clearly unconscious, in the passenger seat.

494 felt a little guilty over what he had done to Sam, which was essentially the same as he had done to Dean. He had palmed a tranquilizer dart days earlier and simply kept it on him because he didn't want to actually damage Sam if a fight should be necessary. He had waited until they were only an hour or so away from base and simply jammed it into Sam's shoulder when they were at a flat location in the road. Like with Dean, it had taken less than a minute to take effect. And just like Dean, Sam had sent a deadly glare at 494. But this time he could have sworn he actually felt his heart stutter for a brief second. He dismissed it, because there was no way that Sam's death glare, no matter how fierce, was actually effective.

He refused to think about the fact that Sam was a known psychic of unknown power. Just like he refused to think about the fact that he could see the techs from Psy-Ops standing behind Colonel Lydecker, already waiting to cart Sam Winchester away.

XXXXX


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: OMG it took me less than a month (barely) to do a whole chapter. Full length even! I've got nothing really all that exciting to add this time. _

Chapter 5

The return to consciousness was slow at first. Later he would blame that on the dream he had been having. It was so real that it had been strangely surreal; that was the only word he could think of for it. A feeling of de ja vu about having de ja vu. It was entirely messed up and made him feel uncomfortable, like he was missing something important.

He dreamed that he had been dozing, watching 494 sleep, and being both worried and pleased by this. It was strange that 494 had slept so long. Good because he needed the rest, but worrying because it just wasn't normal.

Sam snapped fully awake when he realized that he shouldn't know 494's sleep patterns. He had only ever seen the guy mimic Dean's habits. He hadn't done too bad of a job at it, if Sam had felt like being honest. Honesty was not his predominant feeling at the moment. It was nausea. An intense wave of nausea slammed into him with all the crushing force of a steamroller.

He bolted upright with enough force to carry him from laying down to on his feet, intent on making it to the bathroom before he lost everything he had eaten in the last year. He slammed back into the bed with almost as much force as it became apparent that he was strapped down to it. His mind took in two facts at lightning speed. (There was a reason he had been given a full ride to Stanford.) The first was that something was very wrong. The second was that if he lost his cookies now, flat on his back with no way to move, he was going to choke to death like some druggie rock star. He didn't want to die like that.

He lay there for along moment with no other thought but to try and gain control over his body. His jaw clenched tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he sucked in a slow deep breath through his nose, trying to keep his dinner where it belonged. Wherever he was, it smelled like hospital and terror. It was Dean who had first discovered that some emotions had a smell that wasn't a smell. It clicked somewhere deeper in the brain than smell, but scent was the only viable explanation either of them could come up with. Once Dean had managed to point it out, Sam never forgot. Their father was never as good at picking up on it, but he was more than smart enough to trust his boys, Dean especially. Sam had never minded. Dean had better instincts. It was a fact of life.

Another bout of nausea slammed into him before he had gotten control of the first and he made a small gagging noise. Suddenly he was being freed, sort of. There were firm, nearly painful hands gripping him and rolling him over onto his side. He would have much preferred being allowed to sit up, but he wasn't given a choice. He took what he could get and figured if he was lucky he had just ruined someone's shoes, because none of these people were his brother. Or his father or, God help him, 494.

As soon as his stomach had emptied itself, he was pressed back down flat, none too gently, and restrained again. He finally managed to open his eyes and he didn't like what he saw. He was being watched intently by three people whose identities were completely hidden behind scrubs and surgical masks. He was feeling less safe by the second. He let his eyes dart around the room, taking in everything he could. The place reminded him of a cross between an emergency room and an autopsy room. His heart rate picked up a bit and that was about when he noticed that he was being monitored. He could hear the heart monitor's beeping pick up to match his rising pulse. He felt the tug of sensors against his head as he turned to find the heart monitor. Apparently they were monitoring his brain waves too. He was somehow both completely baffled and frightened.

Whatever he had been sedated with was making him feel very disconnected. He knew he had been sedated. He didn't remember getting there and nothing but sedation made him toss his cookies the way he had just done.

"What the hell do you want? Where's my brother?" Sam's tone was demanding, betraying none of his nervousness as he tugged on the restraints, trying to gauge their strength. His arms were pinned at the wrist and elbow. He couldn't get enough leverage to even tug at them. After that, he stopped to take real stock of his own body. He was pinned to the bed – he used that term very loosely – at ankles, knees, waist, and chest, along with wrists and elbows. Not even a contortionist would be escaping from these bonds. He would not be escaping until they let him free from the bed. They were monitoring his brain waves, heart rate, and most likely a few other things. There was an IV taped into the back of his right hand. He wondered how long he had been out. Sam looked up at the masked blank faces with cold clinical eyes and was starting to understand where that feeling of terror came from.

Sam tried to calm himself and take firm stock of his situation. He had been in tight spots before. He knew from experience that the trick was to not lose your head. That all went out the window when a faceless voice announced that they had established a baseline Alpha wave pattern and one of the others injected something into the IV. He wondered in something approaching panic what they had just given him.

Moments later it invaded his brain and he wished he had never even thought the question.

XXXXX

494 handed his mission report to Colonel Lydecker a little worriedly. It had some holes in it. At least, that was what they could be called if the Colonel was feeling polite and kind. Grossly incomplete felt more accurate to 494's personal assessment.

He stood stiffly, waiting for Lydecker to pass judgement on his performance. "At ease, soldier," the Colonel said as he adjusted his glasses to read. He noted that a little of the X5's tension eased while he skimmed the report. It started out well enough, even chronicling 494's misgivings about his performance as Dean, the apparent 'investigation' that they worked on and how 494 had planted the information to make Samuel go willingly with him in the direction of Gillette, Wyoming.

Lydecker read through the entire report. Twice. "There are noticeable blank spots, son." He gave the X5 an inquiring look.

"Yes, sir." That really wasn't the response Lydecker was hoping for, but he supposed he should have expected it.

"Would you care to explain or maybe fill them in?"

"No, sir."

Lydecker sighed, and looked over the missing time again. This was the sort of behavior 494 exhibited during the disastrous Berrisford mission. Parts of the reports just simply vanished when he thought that they were simply personal and none of the business of his handlers. The Colonel had hoped those tendencies had been stamped out during 494's heavy reindoctrination after he was returned to base against his will. Apparently the programming only had a limited success with the X5.

That he was keeping information from Lydecker was indicative of the fact that he had, in fact, become attached to the subject, which was exactly what he had been afraid of. X5-494 would have to be watched carefully, kept well clear of Samuel and Dean, and occupied to divert his attention, and hopefully his guilt. Lydecker knew it would do him no good to push for the missing time. 494 was surprisingly stubborn on occasion. He thought that it might be genetic, recalling 494's description of Samuel's steadfast refusal to speak or react in any way until he had gotten what he wanted.

The colonel's best option now was to send 494 back to his unit. That would settle him to some degree. He took his responsibility as their commanding officer seriously. Lydecker had made sure of it, by continuing 494's officer training when other means of controlling him seemed to fail. X5-494 was an emotional creature, and Lydecker used it as a tool and a leash, but it wasn't necessarily easy.

At times, his X5s were a little too human for his liking.

XXXXX

It was the clicking, 494 finally decided. It wasn't what made her frightening, but it was part of why being in her presence was so alarming. You could always hear her clicking before you saw her. Her nails against her desk, or her heels on the floor. It was the anticipation. You could hear the clicking long before you could see her.

So of course you were already terrified when you laid eyes on her. He stood at stiff attention in front of her desk, and for a long moment she didn't even bother to look up from what she was reading. The fingers of her left hand tapped against the glass. She made people wait on purpose. It drove home the fact that she was in charge and if you were an X unit, then you were there merely by her sufferance. 494 understood the mind games and figured that it wasn't so bad. At least she acknowledged that he had a mind to mess with.

"I've read your report." She still didn't look up.

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't move a muscle, nor did he look away from the empty spot on the wall that he had taken such interest in.

"It was an interesting account. If a bit sparse in places." She did look up then, eyes wide, inviting explanation. 494 chose to remain silent. It was a verbal trap. If he answered with a simple 'yes, ma'am', he was admitting fault. If he stated that it was good enough for the Colonel, she would only state that she wasn't the Colonel and he would have to come up with something else. He certainly couldn't tell the truth. How bad did, 'so, see, there really was a ghost. She was hot in a totally creepy-ghost-like way. She tried to kill Sammy, you know, the point of the mission, with his own car.' sound? That would be sort of like saying 'which Psy-Ops table do you want me strapped to? I'll just head on over.' No. There would be no full disclosure here. "I see you do not care to elaborate, 494. That's fine. You're here to wrap up a few loose ends on the mission. Namely Dean Winchester. Dispose of him. You're dismissed." She looked back down at whatever it was that she had been reading.

"Yes, Ma'am." He shivered ever so slightly at the thought of killing his human template. It was rather convenient that Deck had shared that bit of information with 494. The X5 saluted sharply and then left as quickly as he could without actually running. His back was turned when the small, self-satisfied smile appeared on Madame Renfro's lips. For an X5 who was so difficult to manage, he sure was easy to manipulate.

XXXXX

Dean was doing sit-ups again. Some day he would get out of here and he would have abs of steel. Women would love it. But for now he really didn't really care about women. He wanted to know if his brother was safe. Somehow, he thought that with their Winchester luck, Sam was in trouble. Or maybe that was just his big brother radar. Either way, he occupied himself with trying to come up with a workable escape plan. He was working on getting a couple of the springs free from his mattress, but it was slow going bare-handed.

He paused as he heard talking outside his cell door. It was another of those young guards and someone who sounded strangely familiar.

"Scram, kid."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. You're dismissed."

"But, sir." The young voice didn't seem to be doing very well at questioning authority. "Colonel Lydecker assigned me to guard duty, sir." The second 'sir' was tacked on for good measure.

Dean heard the first voice sigh. "You're X6-239 correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's your name?"

"X6-2 – " He was interrupted.

"I know your designation, kid, I asked what your name was. What do your sibs call you?"

"Jax, sir."

"Have they sent you on any missions yet, Jax?" X5-494 knew that there was at least one unit of young X6's that had not left base yet. Lydecker was being careful with them after the trouble that came from moving the X5's along too quickly.

"No, sir."

"Have they turned you loose with your unit to hunt, Jax?" 494 remembered when Lydecker had turned his unit loose to hunt. They were hunting death row inmates, and Lydecker had known just how to wind them up so it wasn't humans after another human, or even X5's after an ordinary. He had keyed them up and left them hungry and eager and when he had set them loose it had been a pack of jungle cats after a deer.

The colonel had tapped into that feral DNA that had been built into each and every one of them. It became apparent to his unit that day that some had more than others. They had hunted as a well organized pack. It had been one of the most exhilarating experiences he had ever had. The loss of control horrified him.

"No, sir, he hasn't."

"Then scram. I'm not going to be the one to teach you this lesson. You don't need to learn things Madame Renfro's way." Dean wasn't sure he wanted to learn things Renfro's way either, because it sounded like it was going to hurt a lot. He eased to his feet and made his way to the bed and gave his half free spring a vicious yank, with little concern for his hands. It didn't budge very far. He kept working at it as he listened.

Dean thought that this guy sounded like him when he had been trying to shield Sammy from something he was still too young to see. Dean thought that there were going to be things that Sam should be too young to see forever.

"But, sir."

The voice took on a hard edge, similar to John's when he was barking commands. "You are dismissed, soldier. That was an order, not a request."

"Yes, sir!" The sound of retreating feet.

Dean heard the door unlock and gave up on the wire spring except to shove it back out of sight. He settled into a fighting stance with his back to a wall, but not a corner to be trapped in. Amazingly, he didn't falter when the door eased open and he looked himself in the eye, and the door closed again. "What the fuck?"

"Well, that was eloquent," 494 said with raised eyebrows. Dean looked his double up and down. He had the same hair cut, but hadn't spiked it, not that Dean had taken any care with his personal appearance since being locked up. They had the same face and eyes, same hands and height, but Dean had more muscle and Dean knew he just didn't hold himself in quite the same way. This guy was also in the same uniform of gray T-shirt and camo pants he had seen the other young people wear. Dean would never wear gray again.

"Who are you?" Dean finally asked. But he knew already. At least he knew in that way that had nothing to do with conscious thought or logic. This was his brother. Just as surely as Sam was. It had nothing to do with 494's physical appearance. It was the soul behind it. Dean knew family when he saw it. And what the fuck was that about, because he knew that he didn't have a twin, and that he had never seen this kid before in his entire life. Unless you counted in the mirror every morning. Dean wasn't counting that at all. Nope.

"Who? Not what? Sammy started by asking me what I was, not who."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I'm quicker on the uptake than him. And don't call him Sammy." Relations made no difference. That was Dean's name for Sam, no one else's, except maybe their father's. Dean had felt his heart plummet as soon as this guy spoke of Sam. That meant that these people had his baby brother.

"He was quick. He had me dead to rights by the end of the second day. Honestly, to give him credit, I think he had it figured by the time we had stopped on the first night. He's a smart kid, but he should stop second guessing himself."

494 watched as Dean's jaw clenched tight. He hadn't come here to torture the guy. He never was one to play with his prey. It just seemed needlessly cruel. "Look, it was nothing personal. I had my orders. I have my orders."

"Yeah. You seem real eager. You even got rid of my guard, who sounds like he's about twelve, by the way. So if you're going to torture or kill me, could you just give it a go so we can get on with things?"

"He's sixteen, actually. I just thought I'd let you know that Sam's alive. And no one has any plans to have that change any time soon. That and he cares an awful lot about you." 494 shrugged. "I hope that helps a little." He really did, because Dean was making him feel pretty damned guilty with the well-concealed look of utter horror. It didn't help that he was also remembering the look of quiet determination when Sam had calmly packed up his things and agreed to be kidnapped so he could just get near his brother.

Suddenly Dean smiled at 494. "He got to you, didn't he? Dude, you didn't stand a chance."

"Which foot do you put your sock on first?"

"What?"

"Which foot do you put your first sock on?"

"I don't fucking know," Dean said, but he did a mental check anyway, sort of automatically. It seemed strangely important to this freaky copy of him. "My left?"

"Your brother is totally obsessed with you, you know."

"He knew that, did he? Yeah, he is sort of a freak like that." Dean was trying to work out what the hell was going on here, since he wasn't dead, but strongly suspected they weren't here to talk about his dressing habits or Sammy's memory for details. It was just a hunch.

As Dean watched, 494 cocked his head a little to the side almost like an animal would, trying to catch a distant sound, and then his face went expressionless. Set to stone. Dean wondered if this was how Sammy felt when he decided they were done talking and plastered his perfect 'a-okay' smile on. Like a wall had been slammed down between them.

He didn't like it. Didn't like knowing how Sammy felt and didn't like what it meant about the situation. It meant that something had changed drastically. Because he had been getting somewhere with this kid. Sammy had started it. Nailing him with whatever hoodoo baby brother magic he had. Dean was going to finish it. He knew he could. He didn't know who or what (because Sammy wasn't often wrong even though Dean hated admitting it) this kid was, but he wasn't heartless. He had already proven that, both by sending the guard away to avoid the kid seeing or hearing anything, and by offering Dean the knowledge of Sam's efforts and continued existence.

Dean watched as something passed through 494's eyes. Some sort of resolve, which shifted out to his stance and the set of his shoulder. "Time's up." He pulled a gun from the back of his pants and leveled it at Dean's head in a steady, two-handed, military hold, and thumbed the safety off. And then Dean heard what 494 must have heard almost a whole minute earlier. The clicking of a woman's heeled shoes over linoleum and cement floors. The kid flinched and started to squeeze the trigger.

Dean knew that there was no way he could cover the distance to 494 or get cover in the time he had left. So he blurted out the only thing he really had to pass on if he died. "Tell Sammy I love him." Winchesters never said love. Saying it meant you couldn't show it, and that meant you were dead.

Somehow Dean was still standing when the heels stopped outside the door and 494 was suddenly giving him a look that could only be described as desperation. He had seen the look in Sammy's eyes. He had seen it in his father's. He knew at some point he must have worn it himself. With the life that they led, the things they had been forced to see and do.

He looked the kid square in the eyes, because he had always promised himself that he would face it down and take it like the man his father had raised him to be. "Promise me you'll tell him." He needed that promise. Even if it was a lie.

"I can't. I . . . I can't." At first, Dean thought the kid was refusing him, and then the gun lowered. Right then, those words became the most beautiful words Dean had ever heard. He prayed they would be followed up by, 'You and your brother are free to go', but God wasn't in the habit of answering Dean.

The door behind them opened and a woman with bleached, short white hair stepped in. She was dressed like a business woman and was wearing sharp heels. Dean would have sworn on a stack of Bibles held out by Pastor Jim that he had seen eyes more human in some of the monsters he had shot. "You were given an order, soldier."

"Yes, ma'am." He brought the gun back up and sighted on Dean, but still didn't squeeze the trigger.

"You know what happens if you don't." Her tone was casual, but the threat, whatever it was, was clear to Dean.

It must have been more than clear to 494, because Dean watched that look of desperation turn to one of terror and the gun shifted from pointing as Dean to pointing at his own temple. "I'm not going back there."

The woman sneered. "Fine. You want to be spare parts, that's fine with me, soldier."

Dean officially hated this woman. "You're fucking creepy, you know that, lady?" He could hear running footsteps and then someone else barged into his cell. "Hey, if you guys want me to leave . . . give you some privacy . . ." The new guy calmly aimed a gun at him. "Or not. I'm cool with that too."

The new guy, an older, blonde man, gave the woman such a look of loathing that Dean was wondering why the gun was pointed at him and not her. Then the man's attention went to the kid, whose eyes had opened as soon as the man had entered the room, even before he spoke.

"I can't do it, sir. I can't." It sounded like an apology to Dean, and he wanted to know who this guy was to rate that.

Dean watched as an expression of hatred spread over the blond man's face as he turned to the woman. "What have I told you about fucking with my kids? I told you I would handle him."

Dean didn't much care about the gun pointed at him at the moment, but the man didn't seem like he was going to shoot him from breathing, so he figured he also wouldn't shoot him for going and sitting on the bed. He almost asked for popcorn, and would have, too, except the kid with his face was still standing there with a gun to his own head, and that was more than a little worrying in a few different ways. "Dude, you two think you could stop bitching at each other and deal with the suicidal kid? Just a thought, 'cause you know, if he kills himself it'll be traumatizing in more ways than I want to count right now."

Dean hadn't known anyone but his father could look that irritated. The blonde man followed the look up by promptly and firmly shoving the woman out the door and closing it behind her. Which was a relief, really. Even if they were all locked in now.

Having this kid blow his brains out really would be traumatizing. And that woman would have pushed him into it. Dean didn't even want to think about what 'spare parts' really meant. All he knew what that anyone who wore his face was not allowed to look that terrified. It was against the Winchester code or something. He was about to open his mouth when the other guy beat him to it.

"Give me the gun." Dean watched as he held his hand out for it. "I'm retracting the order. You answer only to me, son. She doesn't command your unit. I do. Give me the gun." His voice was steady and calm, like he expected to be obeyed but had all the time in the world. Dean noticed that at no point did he promise that the kid wouldn't have to go wherever it was that he was afraid of. The man was classified immediately under 'asshole' in Dean's mental filing system.

"I won't go back there. I won't. I'd rather die." Dean didn't doubt it in the least.

"Come with me." The words just tumbled out of Dean's mouth before they had even registered in his brain. "You're armed. He isn't. I say we leave. Find Sammy and then shag ass outta this dump." Unfortunately, not only was God not listening to Dean, Dean suspected that there was some sort of vendetta in play here. His statement startled the kid and the blond man swept in and swiftly disarmed him.

Dean had already bounced off the bed and onto his feet, instinct telling him to intervene on the kid's behalf He didn't get more than two feet though before coming up against the gun aimed at his chest, safety off. "Do not test me, son," was all the man said before taking a hold of the kid's arm with the other hand and moving to the door. The kid followed like a well trained and plenty beaten puppy.

"You hurt him, you answer to me." Dean ground the words out, cold and dangerous.

"He doesn't belong to you," was the man's cool response.

"He does now."

XXXXX

494 sat huddled into the corner of the cold room, shivering convulsively. They would have to watch him carefully. This unit was always far more prone to seizures than many of the others. Lydecker idly wondered if 493 was as susceptible to them. Could the untreated chemical imbalance be part of the cause for his psychosis? It was an interesting question. They had never run a study on what the long-term effects of not treating the seizures were. He was unwilling and unable to sacrifice this unit just to allay curiosity.

494 was clearly trying to preserve body heat and therefore to hold off the inevitable. He was sitting in the corner of the room with his knees drawn up to his body. He had his head down and his arms covering as much as he could. Most people, when literally freezing, would tuck their hands close to their bodies, trying to protect extremities from damaging frostbite. 494 clearly had chosen to retain his core body temperature as long as possible, knowing that the most heat left the body through head and feet. 494's feet were bare but the colonel noticed that he had tucked the cuffs on his pants between the naked soles of his feet and freezing steel floor.

"How's our little Popsicle doing?" Renfro asked as she approached and then stood next to him, looking through the small one-way observation window. The small steel room really was a large seamless refrigerator. The walls were made of steel instead of the more typical aluminum, to contain an angry X unit. One exactly like 494.

"He's still copesetic and angry. It's going to take another few hours for him to be manageable." The best way to handle something as dangerous as an X5 for things like reconditioning was to nearly freeze them. The cold slowed their metabolism, making them physically slower and weaker, and much easier to drug. Chemical interference had always been part of the reconditioning processes. Many of the more docile X5s, if there was such a thing, didn't require much. Just something to take the edge off their anxiousness, and maybe a hypnotic to ensure that you had their absolute full attention. X5-600 for instance, was easy to manage that way. Which had been a startling discovery, given that he had been designed to be a leader unit.

X5-494, however, was not. Any reconditioning with him required a full team of workers and doctors from both neuropsychology and medical. It was a time consuming and costly affair with only mixed results. By mixed he meant entirely temporary. The X5s eidetic memory and strong will required heavy chemical tampering. This in turn required the medical staff because of his apparently delicate and finicky neuron-chemical balance. It didn't take much to send him into seizures, and if left untreated, because that was tried once, they progressed in to complex full grand mal seizures. Those were not just an inconvenience. Those were a treat to the X unit's life.

That was unacceptable on a number of levels. For one, after the loss of the baker's dozen from Alpha Unit, X5-494 was one of their best. That may have been true even before the others had escaped. He and his twin were similar in many ways, but 493 had never had the same leadership capabilities or grace under pressure that 494 had. 493 had been content to let 599 run the show, to be Unit leader. 494 took second place to no one. That was a beautiful thing in the field. He could take command of any situation, but his own ego didn't get in the way of objective. If a job needed to be done, 494 would get it done. Even if it wasn't by the book.

Secondly, 494 was one of Sandeman's special kids. Sandeman had been there in the beginning. Manticore had been his project more than anyone else's. Lydecker had been startled when Sandeman had left, and very displeased when Renfro had been appointed in his place. Even more startlingly than Sandeman's departure though, were his brief and sudden reappearances. He had only returned twice. The first time had been twenty-one years ago, when he had picked out two embryos, one he selected seemingly at random. Choosing the first of a forced twin set that Lydecker was most interested in. She had been lost in that dozen escapees.

The second he had been much more selective with. The man had stayed up for days, reading through the genetic assays of all the available twined male embryos. He had been very specific on that point. When he had finally chosen his twin set, he set to work on the second twin. He had been most insistent on that as well. It had to be the second embryo. Not the original.

The colonel now stood beside Renfro and wondered just what Sandeman had done to make 494 so special. Was it all about to be ruined with yet another ill conceived attempt to get 494 to conform? As he watched, the X5 listed a little to one side as he began to lose consciousness in the cold. That wouldn't matter; they had drugs to force the mind awake and aware. "What the hell were you thinking?" he finally bit out at the woman.

"I wanted to know how damaged he was." She spoke as if Lydecker were a deficient child. "Pretty damaged, by the looks. Suicidal behavior, Deck? You call that mission worthy? Your standards have lowered a bit, don't you think?"

"I told you I would handle him after this mission."

"You weren't handling it, Deck." She turned away from the view of 494 falling to sprawl sideways onto the freezing cold floor, her hand on her hip. "You were coddling damaged goods. Have you forgotten that they aren't really your kids? They are objects, Deck. Weapons. And if they don't perform up to standard, they need to be repaired. Immediately."

"This never works on him. We've proven that in the past. He has to be controlled and managed in a different manner." Lydecker could feel his jaw tighten in irritation at this harpy of a woman. "They may be weapons, but they still think, and that can't always just be wiped clean like a computer hard drive. If this kills him, you are explaining it to the Committee. Not me. And you're explaining it to his Unit. Not me. Nor will I help you when they revolt. Because we don't have the resources to reprogram all of them." With that, he turned and left.

Otherwise, he was going to wipe that sly smirk off her face with his fist.

XXXXX

The collection of novels that Dean had been given could be called eclectic if one was feeling generous. Dean wasn't feeling generous in the least, and he called it pretty fricken pathetic. Some moron had clearly picked these out based on size alone. He thought that maybe they were trying to actually torture him. War and Peace, Collected Novels of Hemmingway, Anna Karenina. War and Peace didn't even bear thinking about, and Hemmingway he had been forced to read in high school. He was surprised that there hadn't been a rise in the suicide rate afterwards. The Stephen King wasn't too bad, but how many times could one man read It. He had cleared through Lord of the Rings in the first two days. Now he was on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. So maybe they weren't actively trying to torture him. If they had been, they would have given him the Order of the Phoenix. A person could only take that much teenaged angst caps lock rage once in a lifetime.

So he sat on his bunk and read while he waited. He could be patient. He had bided his time, learned the layout of the place as best he could, and finally worked that stubborn damned bedspring free. It was far stiffer than he would have liked, but it would do. After twisting it free from the crappy cot mattress, he had quickly straightened it and folded one end to resemble a paper clip. It was currently on the inside of his thin shirt, clipped to the neck line and resting against his spine. Not the best of secret weapons, but it would do in a pinch. This was one hell of a pinch.

He'd had a plan since his first day in this cell. All he had needed was an opportunity. That had walked into his cell yesterday wearing his face. What the hell was the deal there? Because he didn't care how much their faces matched, they weren't the same, except where it counted. At least, that was what instinct told him, and he had learned to listen. He was leaving and he was taking Sammy and that kid with him. Done deal. That was the way it was going to be.

He just had to find them. How big could this dump really be? He tried not to think too much about it because honestly, the place could be pretty big. He hadn't really had a chance to see it from the outside, so he had no real sense of scale. It wasn't like they would give him a map if he asked.

He figured he would need a map, though, because his way out had just arrived. It was yet another one of those youngish soldier who had been escorting him to and from the shower room and bringing meals. As usual, they were armed with a tranquilizer gun, but for a brief moment it wasn't pointed at him, and that was all he needed. He snapped the book closed and threw it with a very calculated amount of force. It banked off the wall behind the guard's head with a slap and landed in the path of the closing door. His guard blinked at it for just a second, most likely wondering what the point of that badly aimed attack had been. Dean launched himself at the young man, taking him off guard.

The guy was quick. Dean would give him that. Animal quick. Just like his kidnappers had been. But that was all they were. They were animal quick. Not monster. Dean knew how to fight monsters. He used his shoulder to catch the other guy under the chin and slam the poor sap's head up and back into the cement wall. Any normal human would have gone down in a heap of limbs after having one hundred and seventy pounds of muscle slam into them like that, but it only dazed the young man. That was all Dean needed. He pulled the wire out from under his shirt, quickly bent it into a passable curve, and looped it over the kid's neck and pulled tight. Dean was grateful that the gauge was too large to cut through flesh, both for his hands' sake and for the kid, who really wasn't passing out quite as quick as Dean would have liked.

Dean had no desire to kill his escort. He was a killer, yes, but only of the supernatural. Sometimes he would cross the line into human when there was no other way, but he hated it. And these guys? They weren't human. He knew that, but they weren't monsters either. They weren't supernatural.

It took another couple of minutes of cramping hands and screaming muscles, but the guard eventually passed out. Dean held on for another few seconds to make sure it wasn't a ruse, then let the wire go. He checked to make sure the kid was still breathing, which he was, and then hauled him over to the bed. He quickly stripped the guy of his uniform T-shirt and pants and after the brief inspection decided the boots would fit well enough. He set them aside too. He then stripped out of his own clothes and yanked on the uniform. After a minute of thought, he put his old clothes on the guard and rolled the guy onto the bed, facing the wall.

Dean took a minute to settle his clothes into the military precision he had seen on the kid wearing his face yesterday, and went for the door. Harry Potter was mashed between the edge of the door and the doorjamb, effectively blocking it from closing and locking. He bent and picked it up with a grin. He tossed it onto the bed before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. Who the hell would have thought that a talent for pool would break him out of prison?

He met very few people in the halls as he walked with purpose. Those dressed in a similar uniform gave him a small nod of respect or a 'Sir' as he passed. Older people in normal clothing or jungle green camo let their eyes slide over him as if he were an object to be ignored. It was an interesting combination, and one he didn't like.

It was a bit hard to scope things out when he had to walk quickly enough to look like he knew where he was going. He had learned at about the age of ten that looking calmly purposeful gave people the impression that you both knew what you were doing and had the right to do it. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, to be honest, but he couldn't think of any other way to find his brother than simply look.

Uncomfortably, he thought he might be onto something when he had traveled through several halls and passages leading in a jagged path away from his cell. The number of young people in the grey uniform had dropped off nearly completely, and the plain clothed older people had increased. Many of them were wearing lab coats and looking pretty geektastic. He didn't like the feel of things, not that any of this had been what he would call a picnic, but here he could smell fear like it was a living thing.

Then he heard the clicking of heels. The same heels that had caused his baby twin such terror. He tried to remember that when he pasted the same blank look over his face as she approached. She stopped directly in front of him and looked up with a stone cold expression. "State your designation number, soldier."

There was a short silence and then her mouth curled into a slight sneering smirk. The jig was up. "Uh . . . I forgot?" Dean gave her his most disarming grin.

She wasn't disarmed in the least.

XXXXX


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note o' DOOM:_

So, a couple of things to go over this chapter. One, I bet some of you will notice a few inconsistencies between now and the first few chapters. Let's face it, when I started this epic (and it is an epic. The current story file is 77 pages long and I have over 80 pages of scenes written out of order for the rest of the story. And I'm only getting going. Epic.) I had only the vaguest idea of what I was doing. Meaning I said 'Hey, dude, wouldn't it be awesome if I did a SPN/DA crossover?'. Can we say 'seat of the pants'? 

_Anyway, the point is that there are a few inconsistencies. Such as 494's Armed Forces I.D. said Second in Command. (That really is what the IDs look like BTW. I'm a detail Nazi.) But you will note in this chapter he is very definitely Unit Commander. I'm sure there are other things I'm forgetting to mention. I'm trying really hard now to keep track of my details. The lovely a href"http://prancestagfully. is helping me organize. I am such a geek. We have a spread sheet with all one hundred X5s with details and notes. It's kinda sick really. I'll post it when it's finished. Because I'm using it for both this fic and for Alec's muse journal. Sickeningly, I've also come up with a map for the Gillette base._

_On the subject of military. First: military terms and slang and acronyms are starting to creep in. I am double checking everything for accuracy. (Everyone thank a href"http://prancestagfully. again). I don't want the story to turn into a lesson on Military!Speak, but they would use this stuff and I don't want to change that. I was thinking of starting a glossary, but wasn't sure if that was overkill. Opinions? (BLUF is "bottom line up front", before anyone asks about that one.)_

_Second: I am trying to be careful of the military culture and mindsets. This is particularly important to John and 494/Alec. I have some freedom with Alec because Manticore is fictional. But John and the Marines aren't. So let it be noted that Marines are i not /i soldiers. They are Marines. However, John refers to himself as a soldier in this chapter. It isn't a mistake or an oversight. He is separating himself as a Hunter from himself as a Retired Marine. _

_Also, my use of names for X5s is non-canonical. In Dark Angel, it seemed that only the escapees Alpha Unit gave each other names. I ignored that and presumed that all of the units gave names to each other. This is for two reasons. One is that Alec's lack of a name is very important to his character. Secondly is the matter of readability. If I threw around 210 and 452 and 112 and 392 everywhere, no one would ever know what I was talking about. So. They all have names._

_I think that's it. Enjoy the chapter._

Chapter 6

Faced with Renfro, Dean did the only rational thing he could think of. He punched her square in the face. Okay, maybe rational was the wrong word to use.

It was satisfying though. The crunch of her nose breaking. "I don't like people who fuck with my family."

"Are you actually under the mistaken impression that I care? In case you hadn't noticed, you are at a distinct disadvantage."

Dean shrugged a little. He rolled his shoulders as uniformed personnel started appearing. "I had, actually. But see, the thing about Winchesters is that we never go down easy. I've lived through some pretty bad odds. I figure we can do this two ways." He had to give the bitch credit. She still managed to retain some sort of cold dignity even as she pinched at her already swelling nose.

"Oh, yes, please enlighten me."

"You can tell me where Sam and my little lookalike are, and I can get them and leave. In which case, you get the advantage of getting me to shut my God damned mouth. Or you can wait for me to damage as many of these monkeys as possible before I'm thrown back into a cell. At which point I will continue to mouth off, eventually get out, find my brothers, and leave anyway." He smirked at Renfro.

At least, he smirked until he felt a dart bury itself deep into his shoulder in the back. "I hate you," was the only thing he had time to say before his knees gave way and he crumpled to the floor.

XXXXX

By the time he woke up, it was too late. It was always too late. Even before he woke up.

He wished he hadn't. The whole of his being wanted to sink back into the numbing cold he had fought so hard against not long ago. Enemy turned friend. A dangerous thought. All thoughts were dangerous here. He could do without being awake. Safer.

494 had snapped awake so hard and quick that it hurt. Everything there was to feel hurt. Mind and body. He focused on it. How could he not? They force fed his bloodstream chemicals that bent his entire being toward them and this place. And all they ever brought was pain.

He fought it. Fought hard. Animal instincts left him no rest. He would have lashed out with hands and words, with tooth and claw, but they expected that. He was tied down. Drugged. There were too many faceless monsters anyway. Body going nowhere. Mind going to pieces.

They would remake him. Put him back together.

"State your designation."

However they saw fit. And it hurt.

This shifting and breaking of

"X5 -331845739494."

Everything that made him who he was.

"Who are you?"

He couldn't escape the question.

"No one."

And the faceless monsters always gave him the answers.

"What are you?"

Forced the answers into his mind.

"X5-331845739494."

A red laser that would burn away everything else.

"What is an X5?"

And the answers were there. In stark black and red. Sharp and cutting into his thoughts.

"Obedience, duty, loyalty."

He had the answers. He knew the answers.

"Yes. Obedience"

But that wasn't right.

"Loyalty."

"Yes. To your commanders. Obedience."

"No." 

But that was not the thought that they had given him. So the monsters with the red, red eyes clawed into his mind until he screamed what they wanted him to know.

"X5-331845739494. Obedience. Duty. Obedience. Loyalty to Manticore. Obedience."

XXXXX

She held an icepack carefully to her face. She was trying to keep the swelling down as she reviewed and rearranged the guard rotations and patrol schedules. She had a hard time keeping the smirk from her lips. Dean Winchester was much better at this than she had anticipated. She had been sure he would make a move soon, but she had figured he would take advantage of one of the few times that he was taken from his cell. Instead, he had made his own opportunity. He took them all by surprise. She wondered how long he had been free to move around.

Even more surprising was that he had clearly been putting this plan together for so long. The missing bed spring had been evidence enough to support that. It showed a keen understanding of his environment and initiative. Deck had declared the escape a stroke of genius, once he had questioned X5-395.

She had rather ungraciously agreed that a facility for escape plans seemed to be in the genetic makeup, and that so far, X5-493 seemed to be the reigning champion. She felt that it would only be a matter of time before one of them tried again. She penned out a memo letting the entirely inconsequential Mr. Frank Capingly be granted his request for a personal day off. Now she knew exactly when they would try.

XXXXX

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he was looking into a sterile white room. At first, he thought he might have been hurt on a hunt. It happened more often than any of the Winchesters cared to think about. He turned his head to look for Dean or his father, but saw neither. His head was killing him, and he raised a hand to rub at his temple, but it didn't obey. He could feel his muscles willing to do the work, but there was something holding his arm down. Absurdly, he noted that his feet were bare, and that he was back in those pale blue scrub pants again.

It was then that he realized that he was fully strapped down, and that this was not a hospital bed. He struggled to get free, but gained nothing except strained muscles and bruises. He opened his mouth to question what was happening, or maybe just to yell, but found it too dry to say or yell anything.

He could hear people talking about him, but was too panicked to make out what they were saying. His panic spiked even further as someone approached with a filled syringe. He struggled harder, knowing somehow that if he didn't get away, things would only get worse. He couldn't get away, and they injected the drug through an IV that was already running into his arm. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before.

Strangely, he could feel the exact moment the chemical hit his system. It seemed to burn its way straight to his brain. His eyes fell closed.

_When they opened again, all he could see was fire. Eyes wide with fear, he backed away from it until his back hit the hallway wall. It wasn't normal. It wasn't __right__, if a fire like this could ever be right. It was white hot and it was searching. Seeking. The fire wasn't raging. The fire was rage. _

_It carried the smell of sulfur and pain with it, just like it had that night he had watching it take his mother from them. She had died with a silent scream as the flames had reached for his father._

_Just like they were reaching for his brother now. His brother, who was only seconds behind him, even though it had felt like an eternity. This time the demon wasn't playing. Not like it had with his father. This time it meant to kill. To take his brother from him the same way it had taken his mother. The shadows reached out past the flames to slice and rend. To use the spilled blood sacrifice to feed itself. _

_He could feel the scream rip its way free from his throat, because he couldn't cover the distance in time. The next few seconds were lost in the confusions of useless sprinkler systems, flickering electrical light and demon fueled flame and shadow. Someone slammed into his brother, knocking him down. Taking the damage._

_The two bodies rolled clear of each other. One righted itself into a defensive crouch. The other curled up on its side, a pool of blood already forming under him. What started as a wail of terror from Sam morphed into a snarl of rage. It was not taking either of his brothers the way it took his mother._

_He pushed the flames _

back against the wall. A few fragile glass vials shattering as they impacted. Everyone in Exam Room One stood stunned for a moment as inanimate objects were propelled backwards, away from the test subject strapped down in the middle of the room. Some of his monitors were screaming alerts, as the staff inched slowly farther away from him. The possible loss of valuable data was all it took to get them moving again.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Sam had clawed his way back to the waking world. Memory and awareness came back to him in the same jolting rush. He had been drugged by the person who looked frighteningly like his brother. Then he had awoken here. In a motel that seemed about a lifetime ago, he had had a dream about this nightmare. About the drugs swimming through his veins, the straps holding him prisoner. The faceless people responsible for this torture.

Whatever he had dreamed because of the drugs was fading fast, along with his understandably fragile composure. He could feel blood streaming from his nose, over his lip, and down the back of his throat. He coughed to try to clear it, then turned his head and spat. Sam was in too much pain to really enjoy the fact that he had managed to hit one of his captors. He felt like his skull was being crushed while his brain was trying to explode. Opposing forces battling each other to make him hurt so badly that tears started to mix with the blood by his head.

A whimper of pain escaped him when someone brutally pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stop the bleeding, while someone else shone a pen light into his eyes, looking for God knows what. Sam would have shot them if the opportunity had presented itself.

It had been a long time since he had actually passed out from pain, but he welcomed it here. The blissful dark didn't last long before something else forced him awake. The random thought that his bloodstream must be more chemical than blood at this point flitted across his mind, but it was quickly lost as they started asking questions about what he had seen.

Questions he couldn't answer, because it had already faded, except for an impression of fire and blood.

XXXXX

Reindoctrination had only taken a week this time, and Colonel Lydecker was still trying to decide if it was because 494 had actually submitted to it, or if he was faking it remarkably well. With this X5, either was a possibility. Normally, 494 was not the type to just accept reprogramming, but it was the fastest and most reliable way to be released from neuropsychology and the X5 had clearly been highly distressed and desperate.

He now walked down the hallway with the X5 to his left and one step behind, conforming perfectly to regulation. Gone was Dean Winchester's slight swagger, gone was 494's easy gliding stride, the slight smirk he usually wore, and the look in his eyes that told the Colonel that 494 was keenly in tune with the world around him, constantly observing, questioning, and evaluating. That was the worst, if Lydecker allowed himself to think of the X5s as people and not just weapons wrapped in attractive packaging.

This docility made the Colonel think more of 493 than he was comfortable with. 493 had always been a good soldier, if something of a smart mouth, but there had been something lurking underneath. Something that he hadn't seen until too late. He had always assumed that the escape, that that will for insubordination, had been it. It had only taken one of 493's carefully planned and executed killings to tell Lydecker that he had been wrong.

Of course, 494 had to be thoroughly evaluated to see if he had the same defect. And the X5 had been angry. Violently angry, because he had never been passive like his twin; the hunting cat that was part of his makeup had always seemed closer to the surface. It was also possible that he had more than his twin. As a general rule, all of the twins were identical, clones. But like every generalization, there were exceptions. Some where accidental, such as 210 and 211. Some quirk, maybe in gestation, had given 210 an eidetic memory. Beyond that, though, there were deliberate differences between 493 and 494, as well as between 452 and 453.

Lydecker had always assumed that the differences in personality between 493 and 494 could be attributed to their differences in genetic makeup and 494's eidetic memory. Originally, they had all considered it a gift, one they wanted desperately to duplicate. The X5 had been gifted regardless, but that memory gave him an edge, even over his equally gifted twin. It had been a highly desirable trait until Lydecker had lost his baker's dozen from Alpha Unit.

After that, it had caused nothing but trouble for both the Colonel and 494. Reconditioning relied heavily on manipulating memory to redirect thought process. Sometimes it was as simple as convincing the subject that an event had happened according to scenario A as opposed to scenario B. It actually wasn't all that difficult with the right combination of chemical assistance. Sometimes things became complicated, and physical or other means of intervention was required, but that was uncommon.

494 was always an exception to the rule. Reconditioning, it was discovered, simply did not take with him. It would appear to, but then over time, usually only a couple of months or less, his original memory and thought patterns would reassert themselves. Reconditioning 494 had become a deadly balancing act teetering between his will to fight, the chemical soup used to make his brain susceptible to the new material, his seizures, and the knowledge that he was one of Sandeman's special kids and therefore not, under any circumstances, expendable. Sandeman seemed to be the only one who could successfully alter 494, and he was not sharing his secret.

Lydecker found himself re-evaluating his stance on the personality traits of 494 and his less than copesetic twin. 494's attitude and behavior seemed perfectly in line with his genetic base. They were all dominant personalities and fought with the determination of a wild predator when cornered. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but 493 had been the anomaly that needed watching, not 494. He should have known. X5s had originally been made to be commanders, self-assured and bold. They had been all that and more. And that had been the problem.

He didn't expect 494's new behavior to last past a week, if that long. Renfro should have known better by now. He gestured for the X5 to entire his spartan cell and then followed him in. "A tech will be by in an hour with your medication and evening meal. You are to stay here until tomorrow and then resume light duty. Is that understood, soldier?"

"Yes, sir." The salute was as sharp as ever, but there was a slight tremor to 494's hand. Leaving him to rest and recover was clearly a wise choice. He turned to leave and was not in the least bit surprised to see X5-112, CeCe, and X5-392, Biggs, filling the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. CeCe's lip curled into an obvious snarl of anger; Biggs didn't wear his anger so obviously, but Lydecker could see it anyway, in the slight narrowing of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw.

Their displeasure didn't stop them from stepping to the side and saluting as he passed, however. Out of the four units of X5s, only Bravo had a team for second in command. But then, this was the only Unit where the designated leader had been displaced. Originally, each unit had had an X5 built to be commander. They were designed to be dominant, for lack of a better term. 599, Zack, for Alpha Unit and 600, his twin Lane, for Bravo Unit. Charlie Unit had the only female commanding officer, X5-123, Teagan. Delta Unit had X5-235, Rand, who, like Teagan, was never twinned. They were the four oldest. Lydecker himself was the one who had decided to not try to preset the entire command structure. It would have been unwise to ignore the fact that his kids each had genes from undomesticated Great Cats spliced into them. They had to sort a few things out on their own.

He had, admittedly, been surprised when Bravo Unit had sorted themselves into having a new leader. 494 was smaller, nearly two years younger, and much more amiable in personality than 600. It didn't seem like much now, at the respective ages of twenty-one and twenty-three, but the differences had been glaring at the ages of seven and nine. The colonel remembered quite clearly the images of a small blonde seven year old in a torn uniform, with a split lip, bloody nose, several nasty bruises, and a cracked arm announcing firmly to him that he hadn't liked the way Lane was running things, so he had decided he was going to do it instead. 600 had been considerably more damaged than 494.

That had been Lydecker's first real indication that 494 might be a handful in the coming years. He had, however, given the child command of the unit on the condition that he live up to expectations, because no one was going to cut him any slack just because he was younger. The child had rather boldly replied that it was fine. That was why he had seconds. They were supposed to help the commanding officer. 494 was going to be one hell of a hand full.

When 494 had been brought in for reprogramming after the baker's dozen from Alpha unit had escaped, the Colonel had simply left Lane in Bravo Unit, assuming that the new X5-494 would be docile and no longer a leader. Lane would either live up to his design and be docile to orders to dominate, or a new leader would step forward. The loss of potential hurt like a physical thing, but what good was an X5 that couldn't be controlled?

The thirteen X5s, twins of the escapees from Alpha Unit, had spent months completely isolated from everyone but their handlers and those responsible for their reprogramming. Then they interacted with each other for training and, in some cases, relearning basic skills. It had been much like watching automatons for a while. They did what they were told, when they were told, and that was all. Obedience. It took anywhere from three to six months for independent thought or action to return, and their basic personalities came after that. But the ones that fought the reprogramming the hardest took the longest to come back. He thought 494 and perhaps 453 had been lost permanently.

They had been slowly integrated back into their units. Lydecker was proven correct in that 600 simply reverted back to his original role. 494 had been far too subdued for his liking. Docile, pliant, broken. Prone to staring and watching everything around him with an unsettling but absent intensity. Lydecker almost wrote him off as a loss. A tragic one, much like the loss of a great work of art, but ruined nonetheless.

Except for his seconds. X5-112 and X5-392. CeCe and Biggs, who were by no accounts stupid. They stayed with him. Where they used to stand behind him as his lieutenants, they now stood in front, as his shield. The colonel had been fascinated. He had only seen that sort of solidarity in the thirteen who had escaped from Alpha Unit. And it divided the unit. Half of them looked to 112 and 392 as a substitute for 494, half looked to 600 as the ranking officer.

Lydecker let it play out as a practical experiment. They showed no signs of true insubordination, so he didn't step in. And 494 came back. It was slow at first, his watchful eyes less absent, the quiet refusal to eat a food he had previously disliked. He picked up speed, like he had finally figured out where he was on the map. Questions here and there, a pointed comment, a snide observation. Then one morning he seemed to come back to himself with a snap. His first act was to challenge 600's right to be in charge of the unit.

Lydecker had defused the situation quickly by moving 600 to Alpha Unit to replace 599, which worked out for the best as they were floundering with the lack of internal structure and the loss of so many from their ranks. It hadn't taken Lydecker long to figure out that 494 had been slowly doing away with all the reprogramming during his self-imposed absence. He was the same as he had been before the reprogramming, except that now he was angry. He also seemed entirely unaware that his behavior was different from the other X5Rs

The colonel had a problem on his hands. One he had to solve quickly, or he would have to have 494 put down. And that was not an option. This was Sandeman's only remaining special kid. He had 494 returned to Psy-Ops, with the instructions to fix the problem and do quickly and correctly this time. The ensuing damage from the seizures, the chemical overload, and what they had to do to keep him alive had put the X5 in the Med Lab for eight days, five and a half of those under heavy sedation. He spent those eight days being glared at angrily by half of Bravo Unit, and thinking.

In the end, he decided that the trick with X5-494 was to make him want to do what was asked of him. Give him a sense of duty he was willing to fulfill on his own. Lydecker restarted his officer training the day he was released from Medical.

All of his kids were special. Some of them were turning out to be a giant pain in the ass on top of it.

XXXXX

As soon as Colonel Lydecker was safely away, Biggs caught hold of 494's elbow and steered him over to sit on his bunk. CeCe had already pulled the rough blanket free and wrapped it around his shoulders as soon as he made solid contact with the mattress. They both knew that the cold was entirely psychological at this point, because Med Lab wouldn't release an X5 who was hypothermic. That would have been reckless with valuable government property. But none of that changed the fact that they both knew that 494 would huddle into the blanket for the rest for the night if he thought no one was watching.

"You going to be okay, Pirate?" CeCe never called him sir. That was reserved for the colonel and the like. She and Biggs both would have given him a name, at least to use within the unit, but it had been explicitly forbidden. Renfro said it was because giving him a name would only fuel his insubordinate behavior. This made CeCe latch onto terms like 'Pirate' more fiercely. She had picked that up when she, 494, and two others had been lent out to the Army for a mission. 494 had only just barely started his eighteenth year, and they had been matched up with another small unit of men. Ordinaries. They hadn't liked the fact that their point men seemed to be little more than children.

And then the intel they had turned out to be inaccurate. Half the mission had to be rewritten on the spot. It wasn't the first time 494 had reworked things at the last minute or on the fly. It was one of the reasons he had been chosen for the mission. The job needed doing and he was going to get it done. She had thought nothing of it until one of the regulars, the unit's lieutenant, had made a quiet but pointed comment about their training, capability given their age, and 494's lack of discipline, not to even mention the fact that he was giving orders where he had not the right. A pirate. That was the term the man had used to describe 494. Her commanding officer. She could feel the insult in it. It rubbed her fur the wrong way. Insulting him was insulting all of them. If 494 had heard the man, he wouldn't have let him get away with insulting their Unit. She wasn't going to let the man get away with insulting her commander.

So she had introduced the man to a handy tree. Face first. "It's Pirate, sir, to you," she had informed the man. She would have liked to have been able to enforce a name, but there wasn't one to use. She made do, and then took it as a term of affection for the rest of the mission. That took the rest of the insult out of it.

And it stuck. After that they all collected terms from their varying missions. Biggs preferred calling him Lucky Charm. They had to change it up, though. Even the most obscure words and terms could be turned into names if used consistently.

She couldn't remember who had named her; it had just been there one day. 494 never had that. At least, not that she could recall. Biggs might know, but he could be so damned secretive sometimes. He was good at it, too, with his easy smile and soft brown eyes. She looked down at her commanding officer, friend, and brother, a fierce frown on her face.

"I can't do this anymore." His tone was flat. Dead.

CeCe looked over to where Biggs was crouched in front of 494, taking his boots off him. 494 suddenly batted Biggs' hands away and started to unlace them himself. This gave Biggs a chance to sign the word 'caution' at her without 494's noticing. She rolled her eyes, because she had completely figured that one out on her own. She signed the word 'plan' back with a questioning look. He shrugged, which was bad. Biggs was the planner, she was the doer.

494 kicked his boots free and tipped over to lay along the edge of the bunk. "Dontcha got a meal to get to or something?" They could still hear the accent he had picked up for the mission.

"And leave you here to stew? Do I look deficient?" CeCe snapped. Normally, she would have smacked him upside the head, but you just didn't do that to someone that had been in Psy-Ops or Med Lab. It was an unwritten rule.

494 rolled partly onto his back to look up at her; Biggs had stood next to her and his tall silhouette reminded 494 of Sam. He rolled over to face the wall and pulled his blanket with him.

His two lieutenants sat down on the bunk simultaneously. One on each end, like grossly mismatched book ends. "What the hell happened?" Biggs was the one that finally laid it out there.

"I fucked up. How'd you two feel about bein' promoted? 'Cause I fucked up bad. So, you know, nice knowing you."

"Cut the melodrama and give us the facts, princess." CeCe's voice was impatient. She had never had much tolerance for that kind of crap. It was Biggs' job to be the gentle one, which he was doing admirably at. He was leaning against the cement wall, legs stretched out in front of him. 494's long legs were tucked up, because there just wasn't room for all three of them on the bunk. This meant that 494's sock clad feet were pressed into Biggs' hip. A small but solid and warm contact, which was the whole reason they wedged themselves onto the bunk.

"It should have been a simple retrieval. Watch this guy until I could play him. Bring him back here to keep him out of the way. Then I go and get his kid brother. Slick and quick."

"And they thought this would work?"

"Should have. He looks just like me. My template. But Sammy. Sam knows his brother so well it's frightening." 494 gave a laugh that sounded pained, and it turned into a small moan. CeCe started trying to work the bowstring tension out of his neck and shoulders. It might help lessen the headache she knew he had. "Knew which order he gets dressed in, and which bed he'll always sleep in, and I bet the exact number of freckles he has."

"So what did happen? Because I know you brought him in." She pressed her thumbs down along his spine at his bar code and moved down and out from there, trying to get the knotted muscles to let go.

"He came on his own."

"What?" Biggs asked. How stupid could people be?

"He caught me. A nineteen year old Ordinary got the drop on me." This was straying from the actual question, but Biggs figured that 494 would get back around to it in his own way and in his own time. His CO never rambled, but he did often come at things from an unexpected angle. "And I don't mean that he made me. I mean, he got the drop on me. He had a gun to my heart and knife to my neck. And he was good. Watching him handle a knife was like magic. Manticore didn't soup me up as much as they'd like to think. I got a lot of this naturally." He sighed a little as CeCe got to a particularly nasty knot. Biggs often wondered why they never used muscle relaxants in Psy-Ops. They never seemed to use anything to ease things for the X units they worked over. Maybe that was just part of the punishment for imperfection.

After a moment 494 started speaking again. "Anyway, the BLUF of the whole deal is that I told him the truth. What was the point in lying? The entire op was FUBAR anyway. Then, and this is what gets me, he submitted. He came willingly. He got up, packed up his gear, and snapped at me that I wasn't moving fast enough; he wanted to see his brother." Biggs watched as his commander suddenly rolled onto his back and looked up at that. His feet shifted and he laid his legs in Biggs' lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it was. For the Ordinary world. But they weren't Ordinary. They were X5s. They didn't touch, not usually, and their Lucky Charm was even less likely to accept physical contact than nearly anyone else in their unit. Biggs figured it was partly because of Psy-Ops, and partly because he was their Lucky Charm. He kept ending up in the Med Lab, but he always came back out. It clearly marked him, though. A body could only take so much unwelcome and invasive contact before it started first shying away and then lashing out. There was no such thing as casual touch with 494. If he initiated contact, it was because he needed it, and it was an act of trust. Usually, he disguised it as sarcasm and casual behavior, so Biggs said nothing about being used as a foot rest. "What kind of person does that? Aren't humans supposed to have a self-preservation instinct?"

Biggs looked over 494 to CeCe. They were both clearly thinking the same thing, but neither had a chance to voice it as a tech came in wearing a white lab coat, carrying a tray of food. They could all smell the turkey that was on the tray, and it immediately reminded Biggs that 494 had been right. They did have a meal to get to, but it would be nearly over. It was a well known fact that they could stand to miss one meal. They had made their choice, and it really wasn't all that difficult to live with.

Unfortunately, the smell of food did not have the same effect on 494 as it did on his seconds, or maybe it was the presence of the tech. Whatever the cause, Biggs felt 494 tense, even though he couldn't see it. They all learned to mask their reactions like that. The lesson had been for covert operations, but it stood them in good stead here at home base as well. It was sometimes difficult to shake the feeling that their handlers were the enemy. The tech handed the tray to CeCe and pulled a pill bottle and capped syringe from his lab coat pocket. Biggs forced himself not to react as the tech roughly pulled 494's arm out from the blanket he had wrapped himself in and unceremoniously emptied the syringe into the prominent vein at the crook of 494's elbow. The fact that his sibling and commander didn't even so much as look over at the tech gave testament to what had been done to him in Psy-Ops. He hadn't shut down completely. For that, Biggs was grateful. But 494 was the least docile person in Bravo Unit. This complacency wasn't him.

Biggs could hear the growl vibrating out from CeCe's throat, and he had to admit he would like nothing more than to backhand the tech through a convenient wall. All the work she had done in unknotting 494's muscles had just gone out the window. He was thrumming with tension again. The tech then shook a pill free from the bottle and handed it to 494, who took it without complaint and dry-swallowed it. The pill was most likely 494's seizure medication. The injection could have been just about anything. They could only hope that it helped instead of harmed.

"Eat everything," the tech told him. 494 looked positively green at the idea. "And do not throw it up. Someone will be by in a half an hour to get the tray. No sharing."

Biggs couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. "Yeah, we got the idea. Just because you treat us like we're stupid doesn't mean we actually are. Get out." When the man looked like he was going to open his mouth, Biggs moved 494's feet out of his lap and flowed off the bed to his feet. He was a good few inches taller than the tech. "Get. Out."

The tech wasn't stupid enough to argue.

XXXXX

John's fists clenched in a kind of muted rage. It was gone. He had been hot on the damned Demon's trail. He knew he had read the signs right. Hell, he had almost been caught in a lightning strike from the electrical storm. But then it had just ended. Stopped cold. Like it had just packed up its bags and left. Usually it left a trail of rising tension and weird occurrences.

It had been no different here. He had even found the family of the likely baby in question. If he was going to be honest, this had been one of the easiest jobs he had ever done. The little boy's parents were part of a local coven. They had already felt that something was coming. His real problem his been convincing them that he meant only to help. Hunters often didn't take well to those that openly used magic. Those who lived with it, and made bedfellows of it.

These people had dealt with Hunters before and didn't want one in their backyard. John had been walking a fine line for a long time, though. He was a Hunter, through and through. But his youngest was being hunted, both hunter and prey, and both his boys were special. He had done his best to keep that quiet, even from them, and for the most part he had managed. He had at least taught them caution. Sam couldn't help what he was, but he didn't know it was anything out of the ordinary. And Dean, for all of his intuition, thought he was just good because he was raised to the hunt. Maybe he was even partially right. But they knew no better, so neither did anyone else.

John didn't care who a person made bedfellows with, as long as they were on the side of the light. As long as he could work with it and still look Mary in the eye when he finally made a violent departure from this world. He knew that was how soldiers like him went. They didn't stop fighting until their bodies gave out on them.

So John set up camp with these people. He threw every bit of knowledge he had at them. In return, they gave him a warm place to sleep, some honest-to-God home cooked meals, and some of the best protection spell work he had had since Sammy had left.

But now the Demon was gone. The whole coven was understandably relieved. As far as he could tell, the Demon had only one chance to get at a baby, and it had given it up on this one. What frightened John was wondering would could have been more important to it. Why it would have left with its stake unclaimed.

It didn't take anything but common sense to know he wouldn't like the answer when he eventually found out.

XXXXX

His eyes snapped open as soon as he felt someone touch his face. The fingers burned into his mind and he was forced to look the man in the eyes. He didn't want to. He knew what he would see. He had seen it before, not that he could really remember. Gut instinct, because his ability to reason had long since been robbed from him. He felt like he was floating in an ocean, unable to move. He knew the feeling. He had been there before, but that time he had been in a real hospital with his father and Dean with him. Back when his dad gave a shit. When he was still part of his father's life. Dean. Where was Dean? He wanted his brother.

He hated this drugged, floating feeling, but it wasn't like last time. Last time it stopped the pain. This time it only brought pain. He was floating and couldn't move, get away, find his brother, find a way out. It just held him still, but it wouldn't have mattered. He wouldn't have been able to move away from it. It was burning through his veins and towards his brain.

Which was being crushed or burned to ash by those fingers. By that touch. He looked up into the eyes. Such a strange sense of déjà vu. He had seen those eyes before. He knew this face, even though he couldn't see past the eyes. Just like last time. Considering him. Evaluating. Where had he seen those eyes before? Venomous, yellow. Like sulfur. He wasn't going to forget eyes that were the same shade as sulfur. Sulfur went with demons. Brimstone. And the fire was under his skin, and above his head, on the ceiling. He looked up into the eyes of the Demon and Sam screamed.

He kept screaming. He ran out of air but couldn't stop screaming. He could hear people around them and even sometimes see them. But only a little past the fire. His body had finally started to settle into a sort of restful stillness.

Everything just . . . stopped. The burning, tearing pain, the fire, memory, his blood and body, breathing and heart. Everything was cool and dark. He was resting. Body dormant. Stilled.

XXXXX


	7. Chapter 7

Agents of Fortune 7, in which we meet Hilts and McQueen.

_A/N: Someday I may post the compound map and the file with all the X-5s listed. But today I'm lazy. As usual, any questions regarding terminology and blah blah blah can be left in the comments. Oh, and everyone say hi to the hundred plot points I casually throw around in this chapter. Enjoy!_

Chapter 7

Sam heard the Demon snarl. Heard it in his head, and felt it in his bones, it was so close. Feeling came back. Air was forced into his lungs. Something was trying to crush his chest. It came and went in counterpoint to the air being forced down into his lungs.

Then it wasn't air anymore. It was heavier and wet. His mind started screaming again, but his body wasn't following orders. He wanted to cough. Something was screaming for him. He could hear it, high-pitched and angry. He had always hated heart monitors. They reminded him of a Banshee calling for the dead.

Something much less pleasant than air or liquid was pushed down his throat. He wanted to gag. He could feel hands on either side of his head, holding him still. At least they didn't burn. Wasn't the Demon. It was gone.

He wanted to be gone too, but new things burned through his veins and his heart shuddered back into motion without the crushing weight. He tried to take a deep breath, but something was in his throat, and he gagged. Panicked. He could see again. Move again. But he couldn't find Dean. Or Dad.

XXXXX

Madame Renfro was not anywhere near as unskilled at reading the X5s as Colonel Lydecker would have liked to think. The real difference between the two of them was that she didn't care about their emotions at all, unless it served her purpose. She never forgot what they were. They were weapons.

She had the utmost respect for Sandeman. That was why she had taken over for him at Manticore. He was a brilliant scientist. He used his work to protect humanity. Sometimes from itself. But he had trouble remembering that his creations, his 'kids', were not really children. They were weapons. Sometimes they were defective.

And sometimes unpleasant things had to happen to achieve a greater good. If that meant twisting 494 into a few knots, well, Deck would just have to get over it, because she was hardly asking his permission. The unexpected and somewhat serendipitous actions of the Committee certainly didn't hurt.

She had been watching 494 all day and carefully observing his actions. He was far from emotionally stable. It would only take one more small nudge to truly tip him over the edge and make him do something drastic. She waited until he was alone in his cell, resting. The rest of his unit was out on the shooting range, and she would have him back in time to meet up with them when they returned. She didn't want to remove him from their company. Lydecker was right on that account. The unit was a very tightly knit group, and that had a lot to do with 494. He was a good commander by military standards. The unit belonged to him, and they would defend him and follow his lead, sometimes even against orders. They had learned that lesson over the whole Berrisford debacle. The unit as a whole refused to take any direction for Agent Sandoval after that. It was rather irritating.

494 immediately stood at attention when she stepped into the open doorway to his cell, proving that his time in Psy-Ops had at least drilled some manners into his head for the time being. She didn't expect it to last; that hadn't been the goal of his time there. He followed easily enough when she gestured for him to, at least until their destination became clear. Then he balked.

"494?" Her tone was mild but he clearly wasn't fooled.

"Yes, ma'am."

"There are a lot worse things that could happen to you than being taken to the Medical Department for a check up. You will either come with me or I will have the guards take you. Then you will find out about what else could happen to you. Starting with not returning to your unit for quite a while. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." He was tense, she noted. Shaking. Maybe this trip really was warranted.

She strode into Exam Room One, instantly commanding the attention of the scientists working on and around the Winchester boy. She had to admit that he didn't look good. He would have been writhing around like a landed fish had it not been for the straps holding him down. It took a supreme effort of will to suppress the smug smile when she heard 494's reaction: a shaky drawn-in breath and a step – just one step – towards the boy.

It was rather convenient that a vast majority of the medical staff were spending their time with this new toy of theirs. A genuine psychic. One who could see the future, no less. He represented the possibility for the largest military success for Manticore since the X5s. If they could figure out the mechanics of his gift and how to duplicate it before they killed him, that was. It looked like it was going to be close.

The congregating of the medical staff to this room allowed her a convenient excuse to get 494 in the same room as Winchester. "You." She pointed at one of the senior doctors, ignoring 494's wide-eyed stare at the teenager. "This unit is operating at less than standard. It's still suffering from minor tremors. Run some lab work. Make sure that its medication doesn't need to be adjusted." Her eyes flashed briefly to the Winchester strapped to the bed. She would give him some credit. He was trying to track this new threat even given everything that was already happening.

She reached out and yanked 494 forward to plant him none too gently in front of the doctor. "Dean?" The voice from Winchester was weak and desperate. It sounded like he had screamed himself hoarse. Things could not have worked out more perfectly if she had tried.

XXXXX

About a hundred and six snide comments flashed through 494's brain during the walk from Med Lab back to his unit's quarters. He had each doctor and tech in both Psy-Ops and Med Lab tagged with some sort of marker in his head. The most terrifying were only told apart by the shape of their eyes and the sort of pain they brought. Some of them gave him nightmares, which were really only memories recalled with bad timing, that were awful enough that he would creep out of his own cell and into Biggs'. Just to have some company. To hear a heartbeat other than his own which, inevitably, was beating too fast. To know that someone else was there and gave a shit about him. He was pretty sure that tonight was going to be one of those nights. He was already trying to brace himself for it. If he was Dean, he would call it girly. Chickish, even. But he was an X5, so he just called it inevitable.

But not everyone in Med Lab or Psy-Ops inspired that sort of terror in him. Some, only a few, he found laughable. Like this woman. She was officially named Melon Head Girl. Her shampoo smelled like random melon. Who wanted their head to smell like fruit? Apparently her brains matched her shampoo, because she never did anything but run errands for the bigwigs.

Normally, she wouldn't have been trusted with escorting an X5, but 494 was not in the mood to fight. Truth be told, he knew his time in Psy-Ops might have done something this time around. He had wanted out so badly that for once he had actually listened. How sick was that? He didn't think it had really changed who he was. Not this time. Not like when he'd been younger. Not like when he'd been hollowed out, or even when they had torn him apart after 493 had gone off the map. He veered sharply away from those memories. But it was enough to keep him from mouthing off and make it all right for some moron errand runner to escort him back to Bravo Unit's quarters.

Their quarters consisted of a long hallway with single cells on both sides. All of them were identical. Manticore didn't know what the words 'personal effects' meant. There were twenty-one cells, twenty of which had occupants. The eighth cell on the right side of the hall stood empty. Yoana had died a year and a half earlier while on a mission. Her cell, as bare as it was, like they all were, had remained untouched. Her blankets were still crumpled because she had never folded them the way they were instructed to. The unit as a whole refused to let her memory be wiped out.

At the end of the hall was a large common room. He had fought tooth and nail to gain that. After the X5s had escaped from Alpha Unit, an order had come down from on high saying that no X5s were allowed to gather in groups larger than two without supervision. It had made them all feel horrifically isolated. It had been downright unbearable after they had all shared one dormitory room for the first ten years of their lives. He had finally gotten the Colonel to give in under the condition that they submit to supervision. So the common room and the hall had cameras and two guards assigned to the unit at all times. Annoying but tolerable.

He knew everyone was in the common room because both guards were at the door at the end of the hall. There was a chair that they would trade off in using. He didn't mind most of their guards. They were usually pretty nice guys; one or two even willing to sneak in a bit of a contraband given the right sort of bribe. Tonight they had Spengler and Capingly. Bravo Unit got them every Thursday and Friday.

Spengler stepped away from the doorway enough to let him through. Usually 494 would have felt a sense of smug satisfaction as the woman fidgeted and nearly flinched at nineteen sets of slightly predatory eyes settled on her. But it had been a shitty day; hell, a shitty week, and he wasn't up to feeling smug. That might have been a first for him.

All he felt was marginally safer to be back with his unit. But even that only went so far. In the end, most of them were too well trained to ever really fight much of anyone here. When the hell had he started noticing things like that anyway?

Mostly he just felt tired. Bruised in a way that went deeper than muscle and bone. Like he had been sucker punched in the soul. If he even had one. He was just flat out tired; a kind that sleep wouldn't help. And Sam seeing him and asking, no, begging, for his brother?

Yeah. Sam really knew how to throw a punch.

XXXX

_The outside matched the inside. That was the first thing he noticed. And it had for a while. Dim concrete hallways. Empty. Echoing with the cold. Shaking, painful cold.  
_

_A person had been there once. X5-331845739494. There used to be a name. Lost long ago. Taken. Taken. Gone. _

_He had filled these dim halls once. Given them light and warmth. Character. Distinction. Maybe even soul._

_But then he woke up. Cold. Alone. No warm bodies near his. No siblings who knew the shape of his mind. Of the halls built there. The rooms filled with him.  
_

_Alone. Alone. Alone. And the cold. He shook with it. The room he was in had only one way out. To dim hallways. Empty dim hallways that led to places even worse.  
_

_Filled with burning light. Faceless monsters. With cold eyes. Cold hands. Cold tables under burning lights. And needles. Red lasers. Straps and cold sharp things that made him want the hallways back. The dim. The empty. _

_But it was never cold enough to dim the pain. Cold seeping into the warm places. Pain. Cutting out the warm light. Pain. Emptying each room. Hollowing out. _

_The dim cold became comforting. Better than the burning light, eyes, room, knives, needles. Emptying room after room. Filling them with cold nothing._

_The inside matched the outside. Hollow. Without content, or character. Just an empty structure with no feature. Except the non features._

_Just cold pain. _

He woke with a whimper, a sort of mind-numbingly terrified noise only small kittens are capable of making. The memories snuck up on him at the most random of times. A nap or a daydream or a good night's sleep gone terribly wrong. Next thing he knew, he'd suddenly be back to the whimpering empty little shell of a ten year old boy who had been taken apart, destroyed, and rebuilt. Because a twin he hadn't even known about had run away.

He shook with cold and he was too numb and frightened to even be able to tell if it was internal or outside of himself and valid. He couldn't think. Couldn't pull himself together. So he sought safety. Like a small animal, not the predator he usually was. Blankets trailed after him across the floor as he stumbled out of his room, knees nearly giving way more than once.

It felt like an eternity of being cold, lost, lonely, and hurt, but eventually he crept into his brother's room and curled up on the foot of his bed. An impossibly small knot of tangled blankets and shivering X5.

XXXXX

Biggs woke abruptly when 494's weight settled on the foot of his bunk. It had to be 494. No one else would have dared leave their cell in the middle of the night like this. Not that he thought their Lucky Charm was thinking.

Things had been so much easier before what he termed 'The Great Escape'. Back when they were all in one dormitory. He remembered that they used to bundle up together. Little groups of them. He, CeCe, and 494. Kali with Merick and Jena. Other little knots throughout the unit. But Merick had been put down, and Jena had lost some of her spark during reindoctrination. And 494. He had come back. It had taken him a while, but he had done it swinging. Apparently just like he had been before.

But now he was damaged. Flawed. Biggs didn't doubt him. 494 was still trustworthy, competent. A good officer. A good brother. But those monsters in Psy-Ops had broken something. It came up and bit them on the ass late at night like this.

Biggs piled his own blanket on top of 494 and just looked at him for a long moment. He wasn't broken yet, but he would be soon if something wasn't done. He looked haunted when he was awake; he was having his own weird version or flashbacks when he was asleep. Biggs knew that if the stress didn't lay off, if something didn't give way soon, he was going to start having seizures.

Lydecker was watching them too closely during the day for them to hide it, no matter how much practice they had. It was a unit wide thing, hiding seizures from the Ordinaries. They were all terrified that their brother or sister wouldn't come back, because the pills were supposed to fix things. But 494 still had them sometimes, and so did Devon and Lici. Biggs always figured that it had something to do with Psy-Ops. Lici hadn't had them any worse than anyone else until the past year, when her big mouth and absolute gift for insubordination had finally landed her in trouble. CeCe has wanted to beat the female within an inch of her life for getting herself in trouble like that, but Psy-Ops did the job for them. Devon had never seemed to fully bounce back from the reindoctrination. But their Lucky Charm had it the worst.

Biggs honestly wasn't sure that anyone, even Colonel Lydecker, was aware of how long 494 had been suffering from them. But Biggs knew. Biggs had always been there for as long as he could remember, and while he didn't have 494 perfect recall, his memory was nothing to sneeze at. They had started when 494 had been five. When that Sandeman guy had come and taken his brother away for two days and then returned him glassy eyed and nameless. Soon they all forgot his name. It was like he had never had one. They were made to forget. They had all forgotten except for Biggs. He had held onto it hard and fast, pushing it way down where he didn't think they could take it. He had only tried to call 494 by it once. It wasn't worth the reaction it caused.

He was pretty sure the seizures had started then. Just tiny ones. A hard shiver or an involuntary jerk of his hand every now and then. Trouble sleeping but being too tired to move. They hadn't gotten bad until he was seven, and then they just got worse, or the pills worked less, every time he was taken from them.

Biggs knew they were heading for disaster. This mission was tearing at him the way the Berrisford one had. That was bad enough, but Madame Renfro wasn't letting up on him. She was going to destroy him if she kept pushing this way.

He looked up as Spengler appeared in the still open doorway. "You two okay?" the woman asked. Like 494, Biggs had never minded Spengler or Capingly. He nodded, too busy trying to figure out what to do about keeping their Lucky Charm alive to pay much mind to the fact that it was Spengler in the doorway and not Capingly. It was Capingly who usually checked on them personally and who would be smart enough to offer to get some milk for them or something.

He had to find a way to get 494 out before this place killed him. If a bunch of ten year olds could do it, then why couldn't one twenty-one year old make it? He nodded to Spengler again with a small smile when inspiration hit him in the face. Now all he needed was for Spengler to go back to her post and to convince 494 that he had to get out while the opportunity presented itself. Spengler was seeing to them because Capingly wasn't there. Biggs vaguely remembered that he had only seen one guard earlier that evening. Someone had slipped up with the scheduling, and now Biggs was going to take advantage of it. That was what a well trained X5 did.

He listened hard to hear when their guard settled back at her post and carefully shook 494 back to awareness. When his unit commander finally looked up at him with what could be described as a distinctly wall-eyed expression, he signed out the words for 'escape and evade'. If there was a Manticore Silent sign for 'are you tapped?', he was pretty sure it would have involved 494's cockeyed raised eyebrow. 494 then shook his head.

The conversation went back and forth like this furiously for a couple of minutes after 494 had freed his arms from the bundle of blankets. Biggs suggested he leave, and 494 said he couldn't. Biggs stated that here was only one guard, and 494 stated that he had a responsibility to the unit.

494 suddenly recalled that CeCe had once said that Biggs was the mellow one. That she thought his temper could even be considered mild. But that he also had a habit of, on occasions, throwing a shit fit. This was apparently going to be one of those times, and 494 was yanked upright by fists full of shirt and blanket.

"You are going," Biggs said. "I will tell you why you are going. You are going because you are no good to us dead." His voice was quiet and fierce. "That is how you are going to end up soon if you don't get out. We would all rather know we lost you to the outside world than to be some sort of project in Med Lab or spare. Fucking. Parts." Biggs punctuated each of these words with a rough shake, and then dropped him abruptly. "Now you have two choices. You can either go out there, knock Spengler out and run like hell." Biggs let that sink in. "Or I can do it, and you can either take advantage of my sacrifice and escape, or stay and know that I got thrown into Psy-Ops. For nothing."

494 merely stared at Biggs for several moments in a sort of muted horror. Then, with a small nod, he got up and left the cell.

XXXXX

Dean looked up from where he had been napping in the corner of the bare room he had been tossed into after his short-lived escape when he heard voices. He was trusted with nothing anymore. No books, no cheap-ass cot, not even meals. Someone glowered at him through all meals now. And by meals, he meant a sandwich and a cup of water, which of course were served on a paper towel and styrofoam cup. Even he couldn't use those as weapons. He had time to put some real thought into it, bored out of his God damned skull. Dean supposed he could maybe use the sandwich to smother or choke someone, but he didn't think he could get anyone to hold still for it. He also didn't think he could overpower any of these people; at least, not a second time.

His attention riveted on the door and he heard his own voice ordering the guards away. There was a brief, stiff discussion. Dean shook his head. These people needed to loosen up before they gave themselves coronaries. Then the sound of a head smacking into a wall and a booted foot hitting flesh. It was distinctive if you were a Winchester. Dean immediately rolled into a defensive crouch.

The door opened and he saw his pseudo-twin standing there with a feral grin. "Change." It was a sharp command, punctuated by a pile of clothes and a pair of boots being chucked at him. The kid immediately turned and dragged one of the guards inside and gently propped him up in the corner to the left of the door, incidentally out of the line of sight from the little window in the door. Dean stood there staring. "Move it. This isn't a spectator event. You want out of here, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then move it." He checked the guard's pulse and seemed satisfied enough to go haul the second guard in and put him in the other corner. Dean shucked his scrubs off and hauled on the gray uniform. The kid took more care with the second guard, clearly the one who'd had his head thunked into the wall, given the bloody nose and the way the kid was checking for concussion.

"I'm not leaving without Sammy." He yanked on socks and then the boots, which remarkably seemed to fit fairly well.

"Yeah, I figured." The kid stood impatiently in front of him, a thin pen or marker twirling through his fingers. It was a nervous habit Sammy had. Dean yanked the laces tight and tied them, then stood. "Turn around and tip your head forward." He forcibly moved Dean to stand how he wanted him. "And don't move. This won't fool anyone if you make me mess it up."

Dean felt the marker come down on the skin at the nape of his neck. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Signing my work." There was a long moment of silence as 494 worked. "Seriously, they won't be as likely to shoot to kill if they can't tell us apart visually. When I'm done, we're going to take the tranq guns from Denny and Saxen, and calmly head to Psy-Ops. Move like you have a right to be here, but if someone looks like they're suspicious, take them out. Quietly. Gray uniform, hit hard and fast; you won't get a second chance. Don't trust the children. Anyone else is Ordinary. Nothing special there."

"What's at Psy-Ops?" Dean held perfectly still, because he didn't want to blow this. He figured there would be time later to ask what Psy-Ops was. It didn't sound good, whatever the hell it was.

"Sam." 494 capped the marker and crammed it into his back pocket. "And he's going to be, what's the phrase? Fucked six ways from Sunday."

Dean felt his heart sink at that. "Exactly what do you mean?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Drugged. Possibly not conscious. Most likely not really aware of his surroundings. Half-sedated if he's lucky."

"Why do all of this?" Dean crouched down to pick up one of the tranquilizer gun and pat down the young man for anything else useful, but he came up disappointingly empty-handed.

"They wanted Sam. Bad. I've never seen them put this kind of effort into anything like this before. Not that I'm what you would call in the loop." He picked up the other gun.

"Why? What the hell is so special about Sammy?"

"What isn't special about him, I think is a better question." He carefully stuck his head out into the hall. "Stow it until later. We don't have much time until someone realizes I knock Spengler out."

"Spengler."

"Yeah. Spengler is one of our Thursday-Friday guards. Why?" They eased out into the hall and set off with 494 in the lead.

"First name Egon?" Dean tried to keep the grin off his face.

"No. It's Marcia. What am I missing?"

"Never seen Ghostbusters, I take it. Jesus, how sheltered are you dudes?" Soon they hit hallways populated by night staff, and 494 clammed up.

XXXXX

Meg stretched like a cat and yawned before tugging the coarse brown robe on over her head. In theory, they were supposed to be naked under the robes. Humility before the master and all that. She was wearing hip hugging jeans and a cute little knit top. No one would ever notice the outfit under the loose robes, which is exactly what she wanted. There was no way she was wearing that scratchy fabric next to her skin.

Despite the robes, she had to admit that this was a pretty nice set up. Nice Familiar body. Hot, too. It had better damned well be nice. Her father had been working on this for generations. Culling and breeding of humans. Trying to get something more useful. An army. Humans capable of playing host to and sustaining a demon.

She sauntered out into the main hall for the ceremony, still trying to figure out who had decided, all those years ago, that snakes were the way to worship him. Maybe it was a Biblical thing gone terribly wrong. Not that she cared. Not really.

XXXXX

Sam Winchester looked like death warmed over. Pale and thin, he was strapped down tight to a gurney, and even 494 could tell he had lost an unhealthy amount of weight. There was a mass of monitoring equipment gathered around them and it would have to be silenced.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, but Sam's eyes were closed, head lolling a bit to the side and practically tangled up in the leads and sensors monitoring his brain waves. "God, Sammy, what have they done to you." His touch was gentle as he ran a hand through Sam's hair and patted his cheek, trying to rouse him.

Sam only stirred a little, eyes refusing to open. Dean started running his hands over Sam, checking for damage, and he growled when he hit the first of the straps holding his little brother down. He looked over at 494, who was quickly flipping through a clipboard full of papers. "What the hell is that?"

"His chart. Checking the drugs they're pumping into him. Don't want to kill him if there's withdrawal or something." 494 flipped through, speed-reading, then double-checked the dates. "Shit, how long have we been here?" He dropped the chart on the end of Sam's gurney and started hunting around for a variety of items.

"You don't know?" Dean had finished freeing Sam from the bed and was now turning off the monitors.

"Off the top of my head, no." He shook out a small pouch, which turned out to be an extremely compact backpack, and started chucking things in it from around the room. Dean recognized some of it, but some of it he could only guess at. The last things to go in were a couple of bags of IV fluids.

"What the hell is that for?" He was carefully peeling the sensors off Sam's skin, a little bit glad that Sam was unconscious.

"Nutrients and fluids. Just in case." 494 came over to the gurney and took the papers from the clipboard and slid them into the bag. Dean half-watched as his double carefully, but competently, disconnected the IV feeds from the catheter in Sam's hand. He then pulled out a roll of surgical tape and started tacking it firmly down.

"Just take it out," Dean said, knowing he sounded defensive.

"Don't know about you, but I suck at putting them in, and he might need it. I don't think he's going to be good for much for the next few days, and I doubt you want him getting dehydrated. Think he'll wake up for you?"

"Hate to say it, but no. Not if he hasn't already."

"Right." Dean watched as the kid ducked out of the room for a moment and then came back with three slim, hard, black cases. Two he tossed into the bag, and the third he opened and set on Sam's stomach for lack of a nearby table. "The Impala is on the south side of the compound. We're nearly dead center." The case held three pre-filled syringes, color coded in red, green, and black. "Fastest way off base will be to the west. The Impala should be heavy enough that we can just blow right through the wire. If we don't get shot." He had freed the green syringe as he spoke, and torn open an alcohol wipe that was stored in the case. He used it to wipe down the IV catheter.

Dean's hand flashed out and closed around the syringe. "What the fuck are you planning to do with that shit?"

"It's a stimulant. Burns like a bitch going in. Slams into you like a freight train, and is guaranteed to keep you up, moving, and thinking clearly for a couple of hours. We can't carry him. We'd never make it out."

Dean looked at him with hard eyes. 494 didn't know what he was looking for, but he wanted to get them out. He had set it down before himself as a mission, and he wasn't about to fail them now. "I've used it before. It'll cut through just about anything. It's nasty shit but it gets the job done. We just have to get him somewhere safe for when it wears off." He looked Dean squarely. "I know this is my fault and you have no reason to trust me."

"No, I don't." But he did anyway. He was leaving here and taking Sam and this kid with him, just like he had promised. "So why are you helping us?" he asked, mostly because his answer would tell Dean how hard it would be to keep the kid. He had no qualms about tranquilizing the little freak and shoving him in the trunk if he had to.

"Because they'll kill Sam. He's not one of us. He isn't made to take this sort of abuse. He's a person, not an experiment. He has a family. Parents, a brother."

"Yeah. Well, so do you now." Dean didn't wait for a response. "Dope him up, because you're right. He's a frickin' yeti and I haven't been able to really carry him since he was fourteen." He looked up to find the kid just blinking at him. "Get a move on; this isn't a spectator event." There it was. What Dean had been looking for. The roll of the eyes and smart ass grin. It wasn't as pronounced as Dean would have liked, but it was there: the Winchester spark.

XXXXX


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Notes: Don't you just love these? I love them. It's where I get to cover my ass. So today we have magic cars and lots of medical. There will be more on super awesome magic Impala later. But yes, she is that awesome. And the medical . . . well, I'm not a med student, but I hope I'm not a moron. I even got an anatomy textbook and read up on treating bullet wounds. 494 is ridiculously lucky. And incredibly tough. If anyone out there with medical training would like to contradict me, please do so. But be warned, I'm gonna keep hitting you up with questions for the rest of the story. Which is only like 1/4 done. Also I have a snazzy map of Manticore that I whipped up. And their escape route. I'm a visual person and need crap like that to write escape scenes. Would anyone like to see it? I'll post it if you do._

_That's it! On with the show!_

Chapter 8

Sam felt his mind surface from the sea of dizzying images with a jolt. The bright light burned his eyes and something new burned its way up his arm. Like a slow fire under his skin. Hadn't he burned enough? "Dean, hurts." He didn't even try to move. He hadn't been able to in so long that he had forgotten how.

Someone was rubbing at his hand and arm. If he hadn't known better, he would have said they were trying to soothe the hurt. But he did know better; no one here understood anything but cruelty. He had no idea why he had even bothered calling for his brother. Dean couldn't help him. Dean wasn't there.

"It's okay. I've got you." Sam's eyes snapped open. He could have sworn they had done that already, but maybe they had closed again. He was looking at someone pulling a syringe out of the IV port in his left hand and carefully rubbing at his arm. He looked like Dean, but wasn't. "You aren't Dean."

"Over here, dumbass." The words were harsh, but the tone wasn't. Neither was the hand running through his hair when he looked over.

He had never felt more relieved in his entire damned life, and that was saying something. "Can we get the fuck out of here?" His head felt clear for the first time in, well, however long it was that he had been there.

"Already working on it, Sammy."

"It's Sam." The words fell out of his mouth automatically. He figured that soon it would really sink in that this was the first time he had actually laid eyes on his brother in nearly a year. But now wasn't a time for reunions. He pulled his hand free from Dean's double and moved to stand. He tried to swing his feet around but was caught.

"Let's try sitting up first." It wasn't Dean who spoke, but the other guy. 494, he called himself. Sam remembered that. "We won't get out of here any faster if you hit the deck." 494 and Dean pulled him into a sitting position, and Sam did have to admit that 494 had the right idea, because his head was swimming.

"I feel like crap."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious." Sam grinned a little at his brother's less than caring tone. The warm hand on the back of his neck more than made up for it. He felt his head clearing more by the second, and took stock of his surroundings.

"And you're alive to feel like crap," 494 said. "Consider it a win." Sam turned his head to watch 494 scout around a little. "Looks like they ditched all your stuff, so no shoes. That'll make this fun." He came back to where Sam was sitting and shrugged on the backpack resting at the foot of the narrow gurney. "Least you got pants."

Any retort Sam thought about making was cut off as two people walked in wearing doctor's scrubs. Sam felt himself shrink back against Dean's hand in instinctual fear. 494 flinched visibly.

Dean went for his gun but came up empty handed, and moved in front of his brother. One of the newcomers reached for something on the wall, presumably an alarm. Then 494 was moving. Sam watched, stunned, as 494 shot across the room and snapped a leg up, his booted foot catching the man under the chin and forcing his head up and back with a sickening crack. Before the guy even hit the floor, 494 shifted, spun, and jammed a syringe into the other man's chest. Into his heart, Sam noticed, and then slammed the plunger home. The man had enough time to look startled before he too dropped.

"What the . . ." Sam felt his sentence trail off. His brain was functioning enough to question, but not enough to verbalize yet.

"Same stuff I gave you. But it's designed for an X5. I gave you a fourth of the dose. He got the rest. Come on. It's 0400. Shift change starts soon. We want to be away before then. You think you can handle a gun if I get you one?"

"Yeah," Sam said as he slid off the gurney and carefully onto his feet. He tried not to look at the bodies. Not because he had never seen one. He had seen more than most, in varying states of disrepair, most commonly chewed, but these men had died in front of him by non-supernatural means. That was a new one. One of them had been killed by the same stuff that he was pretty sure was keeping him upright. Uncomfortable to say the least. He rubbed at his arm. "When does it stop burning?"

"When it wears off. Think of it like a warning sign, because when it does, you'll drop like a rock." All three of them were edging towards the door now, unarmed. "Dean, you're in the middle," 494 ordered. Sam thought he sounded like he was used to being obeyed. Sounded like Dad. Sam would have given a lot for his father's rock solid presence right then.

"What? No way." Dean was never very good at taking direction. With someone to protect, Sam knew he wasn't going to start now.

"They want Sam's ability so they won't kill him. I'm worth twenty-eight million dollars, easy, and I'm also a unit commander. They don't want to start a riot or to lose that kind of cash, so they won't want to kill me. But you, Dean, they don't care. Get your ass off point."

Sam was grateful that Dean would at least listen to reason. "Don't worry, Dean. I'll protect you." He grinned like a smart ass when 494 and Dean reversed their positions. He had thought that shit that 494 had given him was just to keep him moving, but he was starting to feel God damned wired.

"Shut up, bitch." There it was. Sam felt like he had come home. Maybe he had. Dean had always been his only real constant.

"Jerk." The three of them slid out of the room that Sam was pretty sure was a ring of Hell. He knew Hell existed. He had sent things back to it.

494 led them down the hall, clearly ready to take on any danger that came for them. Sam wasn't sure that he trusted 494. After all, it was 494 who had kidnapped him and his brother. But Dean was trusting 494, and Sam trusted his brother with more than his life. He trusted his brother's instincts with every fiber of his being.

The danger, when it first showed, came from behind. A soldier of some sort called out in startlement as they met at a hallway intersection. Sam felt himself move before he thought much about it. Muscle memory and whatever 494 had fed into his bloodstream. He nailed the guy with a hard fist to the face, yanked him forward by the shoulder and jammed a knee into the guy's gut. The elbow to the back of the neck would ensure that the man stayed down. It only took a moment to divest him of his gun and less than a second for Sam to eject the clip, check it, slam it back into the gun, and chamber a round. "Don't stop on my account." He grinned at Dean and 494.

"That's my boy." Dean returned the grin. The day was looking up.

"What do you know, maybe we will make it out," was all 494 said as he started forward again.

"No room for doubters in this family, kid. Winchesters can do anything. You remember that." Sam vaguely wondered when Dean had adopted his own kidnapper.

"I'm not a Win - " 494 was rudely interrupted.

"Shut your mouth, kid. Your arguing privileges are totally revoked." Sam listened as the bantering continued down the hall. He didn't add much to the mix. He was up and thinking and could clearly handle his own body, but underneath the energy was what he assumed was going to be a crippling headache. He didn't feel much like talking. Dean was keeping a close and hypervigilant eye on him, but if he was going to be honest with himself, he found it pretty comforting. He missed having someone look out for him.

There was one other brief scuffle that ended with Dean and 494 being armed. Sam didn't intend to let them forget that it was the drugged up, fucked up one of their deranged little trio that had bagged a weapon first.

XXXXX

"So what we have here is a death trap," 494 said cheerfully as they all huddled in the corner. They could see open air beyond the door.

"Well, don't sound so cheerful about it," Dean grumbled as he peered past 494 out the doorway into the weird grey light of false dawn. Sam was a steady presence pressed back to back with him, covering the rear.

"See that building across from us?"

"Yeah."

"That's where the Impala is. Someone's coming, Sam."

"Can't shoot them until I see them. Can't see through walls, dude."

"Don't mind him, kid. He gets real snippy when his nap's been interrupted." Dean was more than happy to hear his baby brother's bitchiness. "Death trap?"

"Yeah. What we have is about one hundred yards of open space with no cover in sight. See those trees beyond?" 494 asked as he tried to find the threat he knew was there.

"Hard to miss, dude. It's a forest."

"Right. Patrolled by people that I promise can see you way before you can see them. They all have guns; some of them have sniper rifles. If we can get across, we'll have a minute at most before they circle the building and come in after us. It'll be fun."

"Oh, hell yeah. Just like going to the circus with Sammy." That was a mistake Dean only made once.

"Shut up," Sam snapped in a petulant tone. A second later, he pressed more heavily into Dean as he fired on the two guards coming around the corner. The report of the gun was uncomfortably loud in the small hallway. "You know what would be great? A friggin' suppressor. So maybe I wouldn't be announcing exactly where we are."

"Death trap, anyone?" Dean asked.

"Bring it," Sam said.

"You two first," 494 told them as he stepped out from in front of Dean. "And _run."_

"But - " Sam was interrupted.

"_Go,_" 494 outright ordered this time as he moved back behind him, just as more people came around the corner. "You guys don't actually want to do this do you?" 494 asked them, sounding doubtful, and then he yanked the first guy literally up off his feet. He swung him around and used him to absorb the impact from the taser electrodes that were shot at him. He dropped the man before the shock could hit.

Sam and Dean both took off like shots out the door, neither seeing 494 take a flying leap into the next man, hitting boot first and knocking several people into a tangled pile. 494 somehow kept his feet in amongst the failing limbs. It was instinct. An animal that lost its feet was one that never got up again. He punched the next guard square in the face, breaking her nose if not outright killing her. He didn't have time to care one way or the other. The mouth of the hallway was now filled with a litter of tangled bodies and limbs. Exactly what he wanted. The reinforcements would have to stumble and slow down to get past their comrades, or shoot from the far side of them. Their angle was terrible and most of them only carried tasers, which was one hell of a short range weapon. He spun and took off after the other two.

He put on a burst of speed when he hit open air, and blurred out of focus to Ordinary eyes. That apparently didn't stop one of the wire patrol from nailing him with a bullet to the shoulder. He stumbled for half a step and used that brief second of shocked numbness to recover his feet and make it to the car.

Damned good thing that all the vehicles were stored with their keys in them. Dean already had the doors opened by the time he skidded to a halt next to her rear bumper. All three of them dropped into the car and slammed the doors closed almost in unison. Dean turned the key and put her into reverse before their weight had even completely settled. 494 could have sworn she was purring.

There was a squeal of rubber on pavement as Dean whipped her out of the space, dropped her into third gear, and hit the gas. He would have been worried about someone blocking the road, except for the fact that one body wouldn't be enough to stop the car if Dean was willing to run them down. If Dean was willing to shoot them, he was sure as hell willing to hit them with a car.

"Turn right. Now!" 494 barked out. They would have been in a world of hurt if they had missed the only gate in or out.

"Shit, that's gonna fuck the paint job," Dean grumbled as the Impala's nose connected with the chain link fence, ripped it from its hinges, and then slipped under it out on the open road.

All three of them hunched down in the seats as shots were fired at them from behind. Alec swore as a bullet punched through the back windshield and then out the left back passenger window.

Dean was babbling a litany of "Please, baby, don't fail us now," over and over again as he pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. Alec took the opportunity of the now empty back window, braced his good arm on the back of the seat, and took careful, if quick aim. His first shot missed anyway. The second hit. He shot out one of the front tires on the lead vehicle, causing it to spin and be broadsided by the next SUV, which had been crawling up the ass of the first. The third and fourth vehicles just swerved around them and kept coming.

"Hey, kid, hang on," was the only warning he got as Dean's foot came down hard on the brakes. He could hear the metal and inner workings of the car screaming in protest as she fish tailed so hard and fast that he was slammed into a door. He could have sworn she was going to swing a complete 360, but just as she was about two thirds of the way around, Dean slammed down on the gas and she shot forward. Wrong way down a one way road that Alec hadn't even noticed.

"This will never work," he said. There was no way that Manticore would miss where they turned. The road was damned near invisible, but the cloud of dust and burned rubber were pretty damned hard to miss. Manticore didn't employ idiots.

"It'll work," Sam stated with conviction. "She's never let us down before."

494 turned, watching anxiously for pursuit. He watched them bolt right past as if there was no sign that they had turned off the road. "What. The. Fuck."

"Told you she wouldn't let us down," Sam said with a grin.

494 slumped sideways and leaned against the right hand door, not wanting to put pressure on the gunshot wound. "She really hates me, doesn't she."

"She ain't just gonna take a liking to just anyone." Dean pulled into the breakdown lane, off the road as far as he could without putting the Impala in a ditch, and zipped along heading in the wrong direction until he found a turn off. "But she might come around."

Once they were no longer flagrantly breaking traffic laws and asking for a head on collision, 494 spoke. "Seriously, how did they miss us?"

"Magic," Sam replied from the front passenger seat. He was slumped sideways. "I feel like shit." It came out as a moan more than a statement.

"I'm not surprised." 494 said, and reached down into the footwell to grab the pack that Sam's chart was in. "They were feeding some nasty shit into your bloodstream." He could feel blood soaking hot through his T-shirt and figured he would have to do something about it soon. "And it's all designed to fuck with your head."

XXXXX

The reports were already coming in about X5-494's escape along with both Winchesters, the older of whom was utterly useless to Manticore. They didn't need any more X units based on his genetic code. That was one of the few things that Sandeman and the Committee agreed on. The Committee didn't want any more because X5-493 had been such a loss and 494 was nearly intractable. They felt that other X units like him spelled only disaster.

Sandeman had never felt the need to explain himself to Renfro. She had actually outright asked once. He had stated that 493 and 494 were special, and they would hardly remain that way if there was a horde of others like them. She had let it go after that. The man loved his secrets and he had plenty of them.

Renfro wasn't interested in how the three of them had made it out of the facility. 494 had been specifically trained to extricate himself from the most difficult of situations. That the two Winchesters had the same skill hardly surprised her. After all, they had already seen Dean work. There was no reason to believe that Samuel was any less capable. Of course, that hadn't stopped her from giving them a helping hand here and there as needed.

What did interest her was how they had disappeared. Literally.

XXXXX

Dean parked to the side of the office window, so that whoever was inside couldn't see the shot out windows. His baby had done good by them today. He needed to take her somewhere, maybe Bobby's, and clean her up. For now, he needed to clean his brother up some more. Al Pitrelli kindly paid for a five night stay and smiled pleasantly at the aging woman behind the counter. At least she hadn't used twelve pounds of make-up to hide the crow's feet she had earned over her lifetime.

He figured that they would only be staying until tomorrow, but if they left a few 'belongings' behind, it might throw the Nazi hit squad off the trail. He settled back into the car and pulled her around to the back. He and the kid both got out. Sam slumped limply in the seat. 494 held a hand out for the room key. "I'll get him inside while you get whatever you want from the trunk."

"Dude, he's a yeti."

"I can bench press a Buick."

"I'm gonna make you prove that someday, kid." But Dean tossed him the key, trusting him with Sam, because so far the kid had taken care of them. He circled to the back and popped the trunk. He had leaned in to pack their weapons, so he didn't see 494's blood soaked shoulder as he opened Sam's door and simply picked up the gangly teen with gritted teeth.

Dean hauled out the weapons bag as well as his and Sam's personal bags – he was glad to see that his kid brother hadn't forgotten how to pack – and a tarp. He closed the trunk and surveyed the damage quickly. Two blown windows and was that a bullet hole in her paneling? Jesus, he wanted to bang some heads together. "Sorry, baby. I'll take care of you soon." He then snapped the tarp out and used it to cover her and protect her interior from the elements, trusting her magic to protect her from thieves.

He slung the weapons bag over his shoulder, picked up their personal bags, and headed inside. He found Sam laying on the far bed in recovery position. 494 was sitting on the foot of the bed, reading through a sheaf of medical papers, held in his right hand, his left lay limply in his lap. "Hey." 494 looked up at him as he closed and locked the door. "Uh, hate to bother you, since I'm sure you'd rather take care of Sam, but - "

"Whatever, kid. Spit it out." All three bags went on the closer bed.

"Could you dig this bullet out of my shoulder? If I let it go until tomorrow it'll heal over, and I can't reach to do it myself."

Dean just blinked at him for a moment, wondering if he had heard right. The little shit had hauled Sam's bigfoot self in here with a bullet lodged in his shoulder. Dean hoped it was stuck in his shoulder and hadn't bounced around. "You're a little shit."

"What?"

"You heard me. When you get shot you're supposed to say something. Not carry storkish little brothers." He turned back to the door. "Let me get the kit." He went back out to the Impala and quickly got the first aid box out of the trunk. He wasn't sure what alarmed him more. The fact that the kid had gotten shot and had been dead silent about it, the fact that he had lugged Sam around anyway, or the fact that he had asked Dean, like Dean might actually deny him help.

He came back in, set the tool box down on the small round table in the corner, and started pulling out the things he would need. Suture kit, the small set of basic surgical tools, rubbing alcohol, the stained towels because removing bullets was always messy, the small but precious vial of anesthetic, a couple of syringes, and the jar of lidocaine. Honestly, if someone had told him that he would ever have to take a bullet out of someone he cared about without anything to deaden the pain for them, he would probably lose his cookies. Then do it anyway, if that were the only option.

This kind of shit was always a bad idea. Bullet wounds were dangerous, more than most people thought. Bullets tended to bounce around on an erratic path. It was hardly ever in one side and out the other like the TV shows made it seem. There was no such thing as a safe place to get shot. If you were lucky, all that happened was muscle damage and a broken or shattered bone.

He laid everything out on the nightstand along with a large package of gauze. Then he grabbed the ice bucket and went into the bathroom and filled it with water. Thank God the place was clean. More than worth the money paid for it. He came back out with the ice bucket and the bathroom trash can. He stopped cold as he got his first look at the kid's back and the sodden black-red mess coating the area under the left shoulder. "Jesus, kid." He jerked his head towards the unoccupied bed. "Lie down."

At least he didn't argue, just did as he was told. "You got this before we ever made it to the car, didn't you."

"Yeah. One of those punk little X7s caught me." Dean watched as the kid went a little limp and took that as a good sign, or at least a sign of trust.

"What the hell is an X7?" He pulled out the scissors and started to cut the sodden shirt off and out of his way. It wasn't good for anything besides a rag anyway. The kid could borrow a T-shirt.

"The kids in the woods." 494 held perfectly still as Dean packed a couple of small towels in around him. Bloodstains on bed spreads were such a pain in the ass. Dean used a washcloth and plain water to clean up the majority of the blood so he could see what he was actually dealing with.

"Nice tat, kid. That what you drew on me?" The tattooed barcode wasn't really anything he cared about at the moment; he just wanted to distract the kid as he applied the topical anesthetic and drew up a couple of syringes of the other.

"Who taught you how to do this?" Apparently 494 didn't feel like talking about the tattoo. His face pressed into the pillow as the wound continued to bleed. At least it wasn't with his pulse beat, which was pretty steady for someone with a bullet in their shoulder.

"An ER doc we helped out once. Unsurprisingly, the ER was being haunted. We came in and cleaned house. It was about three years ago. He offered to actually pay us, but Dad wheedled medical training out of him instead." Dean kept talking through the injections, then the hard pressure he applied to stop the bleeding. He didn't like the give he felt there. Broken bone. "Mostly niceties. Like medication and stuff. But that shit'll save a life. It sucks if someone goes into shock because patching them up hurts too damned bad."

Speaking of pain and shock, Dean didn't like the dead silent and limp way the kid was suffering through this. The novocaine might have been enough the take away the hurt around the wound itself, though Dean figured it only made it hurt less, and it wouldn't do jack shit to touch the deep burning, aching pain of a broken bone. Especially one that he was putting deliberate pressure on. He knew the kid was feeling it. There was a tic in the muscle just below his eye, one Dean knew he himself had when he was trying to not make noise while being patched up. The kid's other hand kept twitching like he wanted to white knuckle something. "Dad knew some already. He was in Vietnam. Doing God knows what, because he knows more than a normal Marine would. If there is such a thing. He doesn't talk about it. And we don't ask."

Dean was relieved to see that he had gotten the wound to stop bleeding for the most part. He paused while talking, in case the kid wanted to say anything, but he seemed to be putting his effort into not reacting. "Jesus." Dean wished he could just take the kid to a hospital. This was fucking cruel. He grabbed the alcohol. "He said that there were just never enough medics around and that the poor dudes had to sleep once in a while, so they all learned as they went. Dad taught us, because, well, hunting the midnight uglies isn't a job that comes with health insurance."

Now came the hard part. Dean traded the disinfectant for the medical tweezers. At least he could nearly see the bullet. It was wedged in the kid's collar bone. No bouncing around. Good. Damned good. "Sorry, kid. This is gonna hurt."

"Yeah." 494 swallowed hard. This was by far the least painful bullet extraction he had ever lived through. "Just do it."

"You got it." Dean tried to be gentle, but the fact of the matter was that he had to wiggle the tweezers around a little until he felt metal on metal. Still the kid made no noise. Even his dad would have let something slip by now. "Stuck in your bone kid, which must be made of friggin' titanium by the way. I'm gonna have to twist or yank." That got him a nod. "You're using up my entire year's supply of compassion here, kid. Anything after this - " He braced his other hand under the wound, got a grip on the bullet, and pulled back quick and hard. The kid finally made a noise as the bullet abruptly came free. " - you or Sammy get hurt and I'm just gonna give you a Band-Aid and tell you to suck it up." He dropped the tweezers and bullet on the nightstand with a small clatter and applied more pressure to get the wound to stop bleeding a second time.

"Better than I usually get." The kid's voice was tight and quiet, half-muffled by the pillow he was lying on.

"Yeah, I'm kinda gathering that. Which, I will have you know, makes them fucking bastards." He hadn't missed the way the kid had flinched right along with Sam when those medical type people had come into the room. He let up on the pressure and was pleased to find that it had stopped welling blood again. He wasn't sure how much the kid could afford to lose. "Not much I can do about the broken bone." It was as close to an apology as he was going to get. He started with the stitches. "You'll have to suck it up on that one." He prayed it would heal right.

"Not a problem. It'll heal fine. Two weeks and I won't even have a scar."

"Kid, I'm good but let's not push it." The stitches were quick. Those he had real practice at.

"Perk of being an X5. We're made to heal like that. Faster and better than an Ordinary. Just . . . I'm a little too good at it. If we had left the bullet in I would be in a world of hurt by tomorrow. Immune system would have nearly killed me because it can't kill a bullet like it could an infection. Been there, nearly done that. It sucked."

Dean tied off the last stitch and used the now pink water in the ice bucket to rinse the blood off his fingers. He watched as the kid got his good arm under him and pushed himself up. He wished the kid would just sleep. He'd earned it, but Dean let it go. Stubborn. Just like the rest of them. Just like a Winchester. Dean rested a hand over the barcode for a moment. Like he would do for Sam. "Almost done."

Dean dabbed anti-bacterial cream over the bullet hole he had just finished stitching up in 494's shoulder. Then he gently taped a heavy gauze pad over it and sat back in his chair. "That local still working?"

"Some. We metabolize things faster than Ordinaries."

Dean nodded as he wiped his hands on one of the much abused towels, avoiding the areas that were soggy from blood and antiseptic. After a moment, he grabbed the kid's ruined shirt and, using it as a rag, dipped a clean part in the ice bucket and used it to clean the rest of the blood off 494's back. Afterwards, he tossed it into the trash can with the bloody gauze and alcohol wipes. "Ordinaries. Is that your word for the rest of us?"

"Yeah."

"Good to know. You allergic to anything?"

"I don't need to take anything."

"Yeah, sure." Dean noticed he hadn't actually answered the question. He pulled a bottle out of his own zip lock, going on the theory that 494 was closer to him than to Sam, and put it in 494's hand. "Take one of those anyway. If you have a high medication tolerance, then those should help but not put you out." If he was going to ignore Dean's question, he could figure out if it would kill him on his own.

494 watched as Dean got up and went over to the other bed, where Sam was lying curled up on his side, just the way he had been left. Dean sat on the edge of the bed and checked Sam's pulse and breathing, then laid the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, checking his temperature. He clearly didn't like it, because he yanked up the other half of the bedding and tucked it over Sam. 494 knew Sam must be pretty chilled. Psy-Ops was always freezing. The cold was part of how they slowed down their subject's metabolism to make them easier to manage. Since Dean seemed busy, 494 put the pills back into the portable ER, as he'd taken to calling it in his head.

"Don't suppose you know what they gave him, do you?" Dean asked him. "Or when the last time he would have eaten? He's freezing."

"You don't get fed in Psy-Ops. And the medication-chemical list is in the packet. I don't recognize all of it." He carefully tested his range of motion with his injured shoulder and tried not to wince. He and Dean both knew his collar bone was broken and his arm should be in a sling. Not even to mention the bruising, trauma, and muscle damage. 494 was silently grateful that Dean had shot his shoulder full of anesthetic before he had even known what was happening. He could and had sat silently while bullets or shrapnel had been dug out of his hide with nothing to deaden the pain, but it was something he liked to avoid. In his opinion, bullets hurt worse coming out than going in, and wounds like that had to be stitched from the inside out. "They don't want you horking and choking to death while they aren't looking. You get a nutrient-glucose IV drip. At least for the first couple of weeks. Then they, um, make other arrangements."

"I swear sometimes, humans are the worst evil there is. And you take that bottle back out of the kit where you think I didn't see you put it and take one of those pills."

494 stopped moving and his eyes narrowed at Dean. "I don't take orders from you. You're not my CO." He was annoyed to notice that Dean wasn't even watching anymore; his attention was back on his brother.

"You don't have a CO at all anymore, in case you missed that. I sort of figured that you might have picked up on it when they shot you with live ammo when we both know that they have tranquilizers." He shot 494 a dirty look. "That was a dirty trick to pull, you know, when you kidnapped me. Anyway, since you don't have a CO, I figure that we go by seniority here. How old are you?" He was examining Sam more closely now that 494 wasn't in danger of bleeding to death. His jaw tightened as he ghosted his hands over his little brother's arms, which he had pulls back the blankets to examine, noticing the numerous small puncture wounds, the bruising on one hand from previous IVs, not to mention the one that they had left in deliberately. There was bruising on his wrists, and when he checked, on his ankles and chest from restraints. Dean looked up as 494 finally replied.

"Twenty-one." 494 grinned. "Old enough to do all the fun stuff. And to not need to be taken care of."

"You just keep dreaming that dream, Little Toaster. And when you haven't just been shot, you can do all that fun stuff. Until then, I'm pulling age rank. Take that damned pill. There's no reason for you to sit there in pain."

"I don't want to be taken off guard. They'll come after us. And what the hell are you talking about, Little Toaster?"

"I told you that they won't put you out. Just take the edge off." He pointedly ignored the question about the toaster.

"I won't be defenseless." It was nearly a snarl.

Dean watched him for a long moment then stood and crossed over to the Overnight Bag. 494 tensed. Tonight he had learned what the 'Extremely Paranoid' version of 'The Usual' was. Dean pulled out one of the Glocks, its clip loaded and tied to the grip with a rubber band. Dean efficiently freed it, loaded it and chambered a bullet, then marched over and put it into 494's uninjured hand. "Now you're not defenseless. Would you please take the damned medication?"

"You're insane. I could shoot you."

"Yeah, but why the hell would you?"

494 took the bottle back out, checked the name to make sure he really wasn't allergic to it and dry swallowed one of the pills.

"So besides the fact that he hasn't eaten a damned thing in a week, any other ideas about what might be wrong with my brother?

"I can make a few guesses. Based on the file."

"Then could you get on with it?" Dean flipped through the papers blindly. Besides the bruising, which was pretty bad, Sam was sickly pale, and looked like he hadn't slept the entire time those bastards had had him. He also looked like he was in pain, but Dean didn't know how to fix it until Sam could tell him what the problem was. He didn't want to give him another medication on top of whatever else he had in his system. Sam had clearly used up any energy he had left during their escape. Even so, most of that energy had been whatever 494 had given him.

"I know they gave him stuff to force his psychic gift."

"Wait." Dean blinked. "To what?"

XXXX


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: __I'm stunned! I got a chapter out in less than a calendar year! Don't expect this to be a trend. Anyway,__ today we have the author most likely botching car facts. I know many, many things. Most of it's useless, and very little of it is about cars. So please forgive my inaccuracies. Also, 494 gets a name. Sam's thoughts, not that he's having a lot of them right now, are much the same as Max's. It was sort of unavoidable given that I couldn't just change Alec's name. I'll get that map up soon-ish. I was a lazy bum and didn't get it scanned and uploaded in time. Enjoy!_

Chapter 9

"The chart said he was precognitive with a side order of telekinesis," Alec said. "They were giving him sedatives to, you know, keep him from fighting too much and screaming them deaf. That's part of the standard cocktail. I'm gonna guess he didn't get much in the way of painkillers." He sighed. "Those cloud responses. Scientifically unsound."

"Let me repeat. What?"

"Did I stutter? I don't think I did, because while there are many things wrong with me, a speech impediment isn't one of them." 494 looked like he felt like he was surrounded by idiots.

"It was a 'Could you explain again without the crazy talk' what. Not an 'I didn't hear you or take in the actual words you were using' what." Dean was overjoyed to find that the Little Toaster was going to be just as touchy as Sammy. He had incredible luck with little brothers.

"I'm not crazy," 494 said. There was a remarkable amount of venom in the words.

Dean didn't have to be a Stanford Free Ride level genius to figure out that this was some sort of weird sore spot with the kid. A very large and tender sore spot from the feel of the tension that was suddenly surrounding them both. He was almost afraid that the kid would bolt on him. "Whoa, deep breaths, Little Toaster. I'm not saying you are. At least no more than the rest of us. And let's face it, Winchesters are a little off, but I wouldn't classify any of us as actually crazy. Except maybe Dad, but that's a whole different clip of ammo." He waited a moment for the kid to settle. It didn't take long. For some reason, he had a feeling that he was going to be spending a lot of time trying to settle this kid. He was clearly one tough bastard, but still, someone had stirred when they should have shaken. "All I meant is that Sammy isn't psychic."

"Yeah, he is." The kid held up the papers. "Why the hell do you think they wanted him?"

Dean was absurdly pleased that 494 used the word 'they' instead of 'we', but now wasn't the time for throwing parties. Sam was still unconscious with who knew what swimming through his bloodstream. "Dunno. But I practically raised the kid. I would have noticed."

"You're saying that psychics don't exist? After having tea and confession with Mia?" 494 gave him an exasperated look.

"You were watching that?" Dean held a hand up to stop the kid from opening his mouth. "Jesus, don't tell me. And don't talk to me about her either. I know psychics exist; I'm not an idiot. I'm just saying that I think I would have noticed if Sammy were one."

"Well, he is."

"You know what?" Dean asked. "Who cares. I just want to know what the hell they gave him so I know how to help him. He looks like shit whether he's the next Haley Joel or Joe Normal."

"Honestly, I don't know what half this shit is," 494 said. "I think it was tailor made. If you gave me some time I could most likely break it down and figure some of it out." He was carefully reading through the medication list again.

"Great. That doesn't help me now."

"Well, according to this, he spent most of his time completely out of it. Most of these drugs have some sort of psychoactive component. I'm seeing a lot of sedatives and short-acting stimulants."

"Sedatives make him nauseous," Dean said. Sam hated them. He usually chose to suffer rather than deal with the after effects of the medication.

"Yeah. He puked on someone."

"Nice."

"Poetic, really." Dean didn't like the expression on the kid's face as he read further. He made a mental note to read that file later. "Anyway, I don't see very much in the way of real sleep. No extended period of REM sleep or anything. They're all interrupted."

"So he's running on empty. No food, and no rest."

"And most likely a crippling headache."

"And anything we give him could react badly to whatever else he's already had." Dean felt tired. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam and ran a hand through his baby brother's hair. "What a God damned cluster fuck this is."

"That does seem to sum it up."

"Looking this chemical soup up won't help, because there ain't shit we can do about it. Not with the supplies we have on hand."

"Basically, yeah. If you want my advice as both a Psy-Ops alumni and a field medic, we should just let him sleep. Keep him warm, and push whatever fluids we can to flush the chemicals out of his system."

"Little Toaster, the Field Medic. Every hunter should have one." Dean stood, grabbed the first aid kit, and set it on the floor at the foot of Sam's bed. Then he took the ice bucket and filled it with clean water. He pulled out one of the washcloths and started to clean up the cuts on Sam's bare feet from their escape.

"What's with the Toaster thing? What's wrong with you?"

"You don't have a name, so for now you're stuck with Little Toaster." Dean felt that this was pretty damned self-explanatory.

"My designation is X5-494."

"Yeah, whatever. You're 'Little Toaster' until Sam calls you something different. I suck at naming things."

"I can tell. I like Sam better than you. He wasn't as mouthy."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Sam?" Dean was carefully swabbing dirt out of particularly nasty-looking cut, and then dabbed it with the same anti-bacterial cream he had used on 494. He would have to buy more soon. "Because if so, you must have been drugging him." He wrapped Sam's feet and then turned and fished through Sam's bag, looking for a pair of socks. He paused as his hand brushed against the familiar feel of leather and paper, and he pulled out his father's journal.

He just stared at it hard for a couple of moments, and 494 had to wonder what was going through his mind, because he was clearly reading more into this than just finding his father's journal. After a moment, he watched Dean gently tug on the corner of the photo tucked under the front flap, much like Sam had. In hindsight, he figured that was when Sam had really caught him. 494 had never bothered to examine it, or anything about the journal, really. The photo was small, wallet-sized, and showed a laughing woman in a sundress with long blonde hair. "Ah, Christ, he's not missing," Dean breathed out. "He left. He actually left." 494 watched as Dean's jaw tightened and clenched, and then he gently replaced the photo and put the journal into his own bag with carefully controlled movements.

494 wisely kept his mouth shut as he watched Dean paw through Sam's bag and pull out a military issue .45 similar in make to his own, even if this one did look much more plain. He then loaded it and put it under Sam's pillow, then moved on to finding the socks. Once that was done, he pulled up the half of the hideous bedspread Sam wasn't laying on and tucked it up around Sam. Then he quickly snatched up a box of rock salt and drew lines across the door and windows. He tossed the box back into the supply bag with more force than necessary and snatched up one of the room keys. "I'll be back. If Sammy wakes . . . I'll be back." And then he was out of the room.

494 was left sitting there wondering what in the hell he had missed and hoping that Dean made it back before Sam woke up. After a few minutes, he stood, tucked the Glock into the waist of his pants at the small of his back, a habit of Dean's that he was apparently going to be keeping. He rooted through Dean's clothes until he found a clean T-shirt and carefully pulled it on. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't slightly disappointed that it was looser on him than it would have been on Dean. It really didn't matter if Dean had more muscle mass; he didn't have catlike reflexes.

In the hour and half that Dean was gone, Sam made several disturbed and upset noises in his sleep, but didn't actually seem to be waking, so 494 let him be. He also learned to despise daytime television and like Stephen King.

XXXXX

Renfro and Lydecker tolerated each other's company with what could be referred to as cold courtesy. That was if one was feeling generous. Lydecker hardly ever felt generous towards her.

They were in the same room to discuss 494's escape with the Winchesters. At least that was the official line. Honestly, it felt more like trying to get their stories straight before being called on the carpet by the Committee and then possibly facing death by firing squad. It was also an act of self-defense. Renfro would crucify him if she got the chance.

"You know, Deck, this might not have happened if you hadn't given Bravo Unit so much freedom."

"This has nothing to – "

"Or if you had allowed 494 to have a longer round of reindoctrination."

"Woman, if you interrupt me again, we will have a large problem," Deck stated. "And don't try to blame this on me. I had the situation handled before you forced the issue by sending 494 to terminate Dean Winchester. He wouldn't have turned on us or realigned his loyalties otherwise."

"All I did was expose a weakness that was already present."

Deck could have sworn she was laughing at him. "It was a weakness I had managed. One I had accounted for. Against the odds, I had turned 494 into an excellent soldier. His strengths far outweighed any weakness. That is, until you undermined all my work. They are not machines. They are weapons, but they are not machines. Their flaws can't be repaired. They have to be managed. Your actions have lost us one of the best X5s we have. Tell the Committee whatever you want. Record shows it was you who screwed up, not me." He stood and left.

The reality of the situation was that it didn't matter who had botched this. He was the one that had to clean it up. He was the one that had trained 494, and he was the only one that the X5 would answer to. If he wanted 494 back, he was going to have to do it himself. And he was going to have to do it soon, or 494's devotion to the Winchesters would completely override his loyalty to Manticore. He was ruled by emotion more than any other X5, and he had clearly already formed a connection to them.

The simplest solution was that they would take him to hospital or clinic when his seizures started. He hadn't taken his medication with him. The Colonel knew that already. The bottle had been found in 494's cell, and all doses were accounted for.

XXXXX

Dean walked quickly with no real destination in mind at first. Just to be away from what his father had done and away from his own thoughts. After about twenty minutes, he had walked himself into the industrial section of downtown wherever-he-was. The adrenaline rush that had come with his slight panic over his father's quick departure wore away, just leaving him on high alert. That was okay; high alert certainly was useful right now with a government goon squad on his tail.

He stood and looked around as he made a mental list of things that needed to be taken care of and taken care of now. They needed food, because they were all running on nothing, or worse yet, medication. He needed to replenish the first aid kit. He needed to figure out where they were now, so he could figure out where they should go. He needed to figure out how to get there, because he was betting that whatever mojo and/or protections he and Sam had put on the car were not up to snuff anymore after being handled and pawed at by those Manticore fuckers.

And it didn't look like Sammy would be tying his own shoes – correction, Dean's shoes because Sam's were gone – for a few days, yet let alone using his special Sammy magic to hide the Impala. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that his brother was psychic. If he really thought about it, he was pretty sure that his father had known since Sam was old enough to start reading and trying to apply it, which was pretty damned young. They all knew protection spells and luck charms and little bits of magic you couldn't help but pick up as a hunter, but it always worked better for Sam, lasted a little longer, or did the trick when you really needed it. Got the car past that one cop waiting to nab them on the way out of town.

Hell, sometimes Sam would just make shit up as he went along. If Dean had tried, their asses would have been grass years ago. The signs had all been there, starting with their mom being murdered by the Demon right over baby Sammy's bed like some sort of evil sacrificial rite.

Dean sighed. None of that was going to help them now. That psychic gift of Sam's had bitten them all in the ass, and now Dean had to pull their fat out of the fire the old-fashioned mundane way. And now it wasn't just Sam and Dean. He had 494 to deal with, to protect, now. He may have been a genetically engineered super-soldier, but somehow Dean was pretty sure that if he just sent the kid out into the world, he would end up in real trouble, real quick. Or maybe Dean was just trying to justify wanting to keep the kid with him, because hell, they had the same parents. This kid was a Winchester and they took care of their own.

Dean looked around himself one more time to get his bearings and saw the answers to most of his troubles. His pleased and slightly sly smirk slid across his face as he crossed the road with his normal confident swagger. First stop was to rent the U-Haul with a nice shiny new credit card. Next stop was the Pep Boys, conveniently only half a block away, where he used the same credit card to buy the gear he would need to put the Impala up on blocks, and asked to be directed to the nearest Wal-Mart. He heaved his current purchases into the U-haul and then drove to the Wal-Mart and took great pleasure in taking up eight parking spaces at the back of the lot. Forty minutes later he was on his way back to the motel with a plan, food, ice packs for Sam, a sweatshirt for 494 plus the essentials like toothbrush and socks and what he needed to restock the first aid kit.

The credit card was snapped in half, part of it left in a Wal-Mart trash can and part of it thrown out the window and hopefully down a drain. A change of plates that night and they would be home free.

He breezed back into the motel room in a pretty good mood, all things considered. Somehow it only improved when he saw 494 had the Glock drawn and pointed even if tucking it under a pillow was not the best way to conceal it in the world. He put his hands out to his side and nudged the door closed with his foot. "Just me." He put his hands down when he heard the safety click back into place on the gun.

He tossed one of the bags onto the bed beside 494. "That's stuff for you. I'll be back in a minute." With that, he set the other bags down, snatched up the ice bucket, and left the room. Never once did his feet even come close to disturbing the salt lines.

He came back in with the ice bucket actually full of ice. He took a pint of ice cream out of one of the bags and crammed it into the bucket. Then he looked over at 494, who had dumped the bag's contents onto the bed. "We can wear the same shirts and jeans, but I ain't sharing socks and boxers with you, kid. I figure the hoodie will cover up that tattoo you got going on. Maybe we can get it lasered off."

"No," 494 said, as his hand came up to cover it.

"Dude, it's damned conspicuous, designation number or not. You don't need a damned nametag tattooed to you."

"No, I mean, it can't be lasered off. Or it can be, but it comes back in about a week. It's not a tattoo. It's part of my genetic code."

"That sucks hard." And was sort of sick. It made Dean think of branded cattle.

"It's never been a problem until now. I used to have a jacket the covered it pretty well, but . . ."

"Yeah, well, we'll get you some clothes when we get to Bobby's. Bag on the table has sandwich stuff in it." He was going to suggest the that kid help himself, but he already was. Hell, he was already chewing. "Just leave some for me, okay, kid?"

"Sure."

Dean shook his head and sat on the edge of Sam's bed. He peeled the blanket back a bit. "Come on, Sunshine, up and at'em." He shook Sam's shoulder a little, trying to rouse him. What he got was a small distressed noise. He tapped Sam's cheek a little. "I'll let you go back to sleep soon. Come on, little brother, wakey wakey." When Sam did nothing, Dean shook him harder, a bit worried. Sam was never a deep sleeper. Then suddenly Sam bolted upright with a gasp, eyes wide, unseeing.

"Sam?" Dean had Sam by the shoulders, holding him steady. "Come on, Sam, back to the real world." He gave Sam another little shake and this time Sam's eyes latched onto his brother.

"Dean." He sounded almost panicked. 494 found it interesting that even half-crazed, Sam instantly knew who Dean was, and he was sure that Sam would never confuse the two of them again.

"Right here, Sammy. You're safe now." Sam sagged forward and rested his forehead against Dean's shoulder, hands fisting in Dean's shirt. One of Dean's hand moved slowly over Sam's hair. They would both deny that this exchange had ever taken place.

"God, my head hurts. Everything hurts. But mostly my head." Sam didn't move back from his brother because he honestly wasn't sure he had he energy, but his hands did loosen and let go of Dean's shirt.

"Yeah, they messed you up pretty badly. I don't want to give you anything yet, because I don't know what they were giving you. I think what you need is something in your stomach, some ice on your bruises, and then some more sleep."

Sam was still resting his head against Dean's shoulder, most likely not even aware that the X5 was in the room, halfway through his second sandwich. "You make me eat and I'll puke, man."

"Got you covered." Sam was always nauseous after being given sedatives. It never failed. The only things he could keep down were apple juice and plain ice cream. Dean produced the second from the ice bucket. He put the pint in Sam's hand and then reached around him to arrange the pillows so he could lean against the headboard, then pushed Sam back into them slowly.

Sam just sat there for a few moments and then took the spoon Dean handed him. "Promise not to mock me about this tomorrow."

"Sam . . ."

"Promise or I won't eat."

"You are such a little bitch." Sam just smiled until Dean finally sighed. "Fine, I won't mock your girlish tendencies tomorrow. Eat your damned ice cream."

"Jerk." But Sam did as he was told.

494 watched them, wondering what the hell the subtext of that conversation had been, because there sure had been a lot of it. He also wondered if this was how normal people acted. Somehow he didn't think so. He carefully made more noise than necessary while making his third sandwich, just so they didn't forget he was there.

Sam's head whipped around to face him, and he then closed his eyes for a moment as the motion obviously made him dizzy. After a moment, his eyes opened and he ate another bite of ice cream, watching him.

"What? I know I'm good looking, but you see this face every day on him," 494 said, gesturing at Dean.

"I'm just wondering why you came with us."

"I'm wondering how many damned sandwiches you can eat?" Dean chimed in, but he snuck a look at Sam, almost afraid of what he would see. Dean had taken the Little Toaster under his wing, so to speak, without talking to Sam about it. He didn't know what he would do if Sam was pissed, and Sam had a right to be. Dean had just been taken prisoner, but Sammy had been drugged and tortured.

Sam watched Dean, then 494, for a long moment. He was suddenly reminded vividly of the husky puppy he and Dean had had when he had been seven. The poor thing had been tied out in the sun and clearly abused, and Dean had unchained it. The little guy had bitten Dean for his trouble, but they'd just carried it home to their motel room anyway. John had let them keep it in a moment of insanity, and it had only taken a couple of days for it to be part of the family.

But it had all come apart when the legal owner had seen them playing with it behind the motel and threatened to bring the law down on them. The Winchesters simply couldn't afford that, and the puppy had gone back to its first owners.

That was 494. They'd gotten past the biting stage, and Sam just hoped they could hide before the original owners showed. He gave Dean a little nod to let his big brother know that they could keep the new brother. Dean was right. He was already family.

"I can eat at least three," 494 stated with a grin and then bit into the sandwich he was holding. "And I came along because I couldn't bear to leave the car."

"You say that like you're ever going to be able to drive her again, Little Toaster," Dean replied and walked over to the table to make his own sandwich before there wasn't any food left.

"You know, Colonel Lydecker was going to let me keep it after you died." 494 said with a one-shouldered shrug. Sam noticed he was heavily favoring his left shoulder and arm. He decided to ask Dean about it later, when it didn't feel like his head was going to fall off. He did notice that 494 was now wearing one of Dean's T-shirts, which meant that there had been blood and that Dean had already patched him up.

"Too bad for you. What was prize number two?" Dean took a huge bite of his sandwich. The lunchmeat was cheap-ass processed crap and the white bread less than the finest, but at least it wasn't prison food.

"A pony."

Sam nearly snorted his ice cream. "Great, just what I needed. Another smart aleck. Did you just call him Little Toaster?" He set his ice cream down on his knee and pressed his bruised wrists to it. "So what's the plan?"

"Sure did. And we'll head to Bobby's." Dean set his food down and picked up the box of zip-lock sandwich bags he had bought. He started filling four of them with ice from the bucket. Sam put the partially empty pint on the nightstand and took two of the ice packs from Dean, settling them on his wrists while Dean put the other two on his ankles. "I rented a full-sized U-Haul. I'm going to put the Impala up on blocks inside, that way no one can find us until we get her sorted out. The credit card is already gone. We change plates tonight and we should be home free."

"Who's Bobby?" 494 asked. "And Lydecker will just keep looking for the car, you know."

"Bobby's a friend. Another hunter. He'll let us lay low there for a while. Recuperate. Fix the Impala."

"We should get rid of it." 494 cringed just thinking about it.

"She's not going anywhere, Little Toaster. She'll be safe by the time we're done with her."

494 made a face. "Stop calling me that!"

"No can do."

"Alec," Sam stated.

"Uh?" was Dean's intelligent response. 494 just blinked at him.

Sam ignored Dean and focused on Dean's two-years-too-young twin. "Alec. We should call you Alec. You know, like smart aleck. It suits you."

494 gave him a long look and then smiled. It was less lopsided than Dean's, and younger somehow. Sam noticed that everything about him was younger than Dean. It wasn't about the two year age gap or even that 494 hadn't seen as much hardship, because somehow Sam was pretty sure than he had had more than his fair share by miles. It was just that a lot of things were probably still new for him. Like a name. "Yeah, Alec. I like that."

Now Dean gave that slightly lopsided grin of his. "I told you Sam would come up with something good for you."

XXXXX

Meg felt it the moment he stepped across the threshold to the dingy warehouse that her particular conclave of Familiars had taken up residence in this month. She turned to look at the doorway he was going to be striding through any second. She saw a couple of the actual psychics, as pathetic as they were, shift nervously. One of them had the common sense to send up a warning that I _something /I _was coming

Several people formed up protective ranks in front of the priestess as sharp footsteps approached. Meg felt a smirk slide across her borrowed face. It amused the hell out of her that they were waiting to fight off what they had spent their entire lives worshipping. And oh, the tingly power all that adoration gave was such a warm and fuzzy thing.

Only an idiot wouldn't have been afraid of the figure that appeared in the doorway. He was a black, back-lit silhouette that seemed to fill up more than physical space. His yellow eyes stood out against the dark. Meg was only now learning to use the power that she had inherited from him that allowed him to bend the darkness around him.

She sighed and rolled her eyes into the next state as two of the priestess' guards failed to comprehend who was in front of them and threw themselves to their deaths. Yellow eyes narrowed in irritation and his two attackers, who clearly had more balls than brains, skidded back away from him in opposite directions. Their heels drug across the cement floor and their heads made a hard cracking noise as they eventually slammed into the walls. Their ascent to the ceiling was quick and brutal and her father did nothing to contain the mess as his power sliced through them. Meg laughed at the dumbfounded expression everyone wore.

"I am not in the mood." His voice was a promise of death for the next person that crossed him, or possibly for the next person who drew his attention to them. He advanced from the doorway and his faithful followers fell away.

Meg made her way towards her father and then fell into step with him as he made his way to the priestess. She would give the priestess credit for brains. The woman was still holding the conclave's pet snake and she looked from its gold eyes to the matching eyes of the being before her, and fell to her knees. "Master," was the only word she said as her forehead touched the floor.

XXXXX

The silence was really starting to get to Dean, or at least the lack of conversation was. He was keeping the music low out of sympathy for Sam. He had been slipping in and out of sleep for the last few hours, and when he was awake, he stated that his head hurt in such a way that would have made a migraine feel like a shoulder massage. They had settled him in the passenger seat by the door so he could lean into the corner and sleep. Also, this way if Sam lost his lunch, Dean was safe. Alec was the one stuck in the middle.

"So." Dean began looking over at Alec for a second. He was still looking pale and hurt, but not too bad, considering. "Care to finally explain to me why you have my face?"

"I was born with it. Isn't that how most people get their faces?" Alec quipped. He could have just answered Dean, but he had to know just how far he could push, and exactly how he fit in with these two. At the moment, he wasn't sure he did at all. There didn't seem to be room for anyone else between them, but he didn't want to think about that. If he thought about it, then he had to acknowledge that he wanted to stay with them and that he wasn't ready to be out here alone.

"Ha very ha. What I want to know is why you were born with my face. Am I going to have to word everything this carefully, like I'm in one of Sammy's law classes?"

"It'd be hilarious to watch you try."

"Listen, Little Toaster, I'm pretty sure I could find a bathtub to dump you in if you keep giving me trouble."

Alec sighed. They were back to that Toaster thing. He would have complained, but he thought that it might mean that Dean liked him. He leaned his head back and tried to ease the pressure on his wounded shoulder. "All of the X5s were built from a pre-existing template. You're mine."

"Huh." Dean pondered this. "You want to try that again in a way that makes sense?"

"Why don't you ask the impossible?"

Sam made a small snorting noise, clearly a commentary on their conversation. They both looked over at him, Alec longer than Dean, who turned his eyes back to the road. Sam's eyes were clear for the moment, and he quirked a smile at them to show that he was paying attention.

Alec turned back to look out the windshield. "The X5s were the first real successes. This is mostly because we could pass for human. According to the Colonel, we look human, Ordinary, because we're all based on a naturally occurring genetic code. We're products of heavy tinkering instead of being built from scratch like the 'Nomolies and the earlier series. They, for the most part, don't look human. Some of them aren't too bright, either."

Dean took a hand off the wheel and ran it over his face. "Okay. Shit. This is a lot to take in, and no offense to your story-telling abilities, but you're leaving me with a lot of questions."

"You answer my questions about the scary shit you deal with, and I'll answer yours about the scary shit I deal with."

"Sounds fair. First, how am I template for you?"

"How old were you when your dad retired from service?"

"Pretty young. One or two."

"Manticore, that's home by the way, ran a front for a while as a fertility clinic for the Armed Forces. Free of charge, of course. I guess your parents had trouble in one way or another. It was a pretty easy way to get good material. They just cloned the embryo of the parents they thought were valuable enough. They looked for things like exceptional service records, intelligence, adaptability, attractiveness. Your number came up and here I am. I guess your parents had some good shit."

"So you're a clone of me. Then why do you say you only look human?"

"I was a clone of you," Alec corrected. "Once upon a test tube. But we've all been tinkered with, spliced, shaken, and stirred. You were born; I'm a science experiment."

"So what makes you so different?"

"You fought with a couple of X5s. Pound for pound, we're stronger. We're faster. We're all part cat of some variety or another, which means we're stronger, faster – I mean way faster – have better reflexes, and are more flexible." He grinned. "I learned to walk tightropes when I was six and can make ten foot vertical leaps look easy. We have a better sense of spatial relations than most people, and we can see in the dark, at least as well as a cat. That's one of the ways Sam caught me. I forgot that you would have needed a flashlight."

Dean was quiet for a long moment, trying to take all of this in. "Sammy always did notice the details." There was another pause. "Seriously, you're part cat."

"Yeah."

There was a long pause from Dean. "What kind? Angora? Persian, American Short Hair?"

"Give him some credit." Sam's response was sleepy, but mercifully not disoriented.

"Abyssinian or Devon Rex. Maybe Siamese. He's loud enough."

"You Winchesters are asses, you know that?" Alec wrinkled his nose when Dean laughed.

"And think, you haven't met Dad yet." Sam was still amused.

"Leopard to answer your question. Specifically, _Panthera Pardus Saxicolor_, commonly known as the Persian Leopard. At least that's what I have. They tried to match things to what they thought our adult body type would be, to make sure our mostly human bodies would be able to put up with the strain. They stayed away from things that hunted specifically as packs, like lions, because they didn't want any of that mentality to carry over."

"Species personality traits carry over?" Sam asked quietly from his corner.

"Yeah, sometimes. It depends on how much you got. Some of us have more carry over than others. We've speculated amongst ourselves as to why. Maybe we actually have more feline DNA than others. Maybe it's the human personality meshing really well with the feline instinct, who knows."

"So what carries over?"

"Sociability. Preferences in hunting methods. Dominance issues. Some of the baser instincts."

"Baser, huh?" Dean seemed amused.

"Yeah." Alec said. It was hard to take things to seriously around Dean. "Three or four times a year they have to frickin' separate some of us. It's real fun. Males on the east side of the base, females on the west. Hell, they had to redo meal and class schedules as we got older."

"But male cats don't have breeding cycles," was Sam's confused comment.

"No, but some of us can smell theirs, and that's enough to make us climb the walls and kill."

Dean grinned. "These girls sound like fun."

"No. You wouldn't perform up to standard or have enough endurance and she'd break you in half and move on to the next guy."

"Hey!"

Sam was apparently well enough to laugh at his brother.

Alec laughed too. "Seriously, for three days straight? You'd get a break when she felt like having a nap."

"I could last that long if the girl was hot enough."

"Dean, that's anatomically impossible," Sam said with a little snort.

"Maybe, but what a way to go. Genetically engineered catgirls."

"Ugh," was all Alec was capable of saying. "Seriously, it's a pretty unpleasant way to spend three or four days."

"You could just jerk off." Apparently Sam was capable of being uncouth.

Dean snorted. "No, they can't. 'It's a sign of mental weakness and lack of self control.' No wonder everyone there was so tense."

XXXXX

To say that Bobby was annoyed when he heard the rumble of a truck pulling into his yard would be an understatement. Then again, if you asked a lot of people, Bobby Singer's primary mode of existence was annoyance. He looked across his kitchen table once, the near end covered in books of an occult nature and the far end covered in small car parts. He rose with a sigh and went out to stand on his porch to head off whoever the hell was interrupting him on a Sunday. He wondered why his damned fool dog wasn't barking his damned fool head off.

Then he saw the reason walking toward him. Dean Winchester. The mutt had always liked the boy. "Dean." He stepped off the porch and gave the boy's shoulder a quick pat. He looked tired. Wrung dry. "Where the hell is the Impala. What's wrong?"

XXXXX


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter10 

"She's in the trailer," Dean said, clearly meaning the Impala. That car had never been an it, not even when John had rolled into the yard the first time with two baby boys tucked into the back seat. The oldest of the two wouldn't even talk to anyone but his little bit of a brother for nearly a year. Not even to his father. Bobby watched as someone else slipped out of the driver's side door of the truck and walked towards them.

Now Rumsfeld was barking his head off. Bobby didn't blame him at all, faced with a Dean double. The dog's hackles rose and the bark deepened into a growling snarl at the double's approach. Then the thing, the kid curled his lip up a bit and snarled right back. It wasn't a human noise. Not the sound of a human trying to imitate a snarl. It was an animal sound. Feral and full of the threat of brutal violence. Rumsfeld backed away, belly down, with a submissive whimper. Bobby felt his jaw drop. That dog didn't even back down before demons. 

Dean looked a little startled as well, but the only thing he said was, "Huh." He gave who or whatever it was a contemplative look before reaching out and casually running a hand over the kid's hair and down his neck. He let his hand rest between his shoulders for a moment. The snarl slid off the kid's face, and he was again left looking like a simple, if pale, copy of Dean. If you could call that simple. "Guess you really are a cat."

"You're a jerk, you know that?" was the quick reply. Dean only shrugged. 

"Bobby," Dean said, and then sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. Bobby knew then that this was more than just a hunt gone bad. He didn't know where the hell John was, but Bobby was going to be playing stand-in. It wasn't the first time. He was strangely used to the role. The Winchester boys had called his junkyard home for years. 

"What the hell is going on, Dean?" 

"More than you wanna hear without a couple of stiff drinks. Help me get Sam." Bobby knew better than to argue when it came to anything involving Sam, but last he had checked, Sam was using his ginormus brain to whisk through college classes. He also noticed that the kid turned to follow Dean, prompting the older Winchester to say, "Uh, Alec? Yeah, you're sitting this one out, Mr. Gunshot Wound. You sit tight and make friends with Rumsfeld or something."

The kid, Alec apparently, wrinkled his nose at Dean. Bullet wound would explain the pale. "Dean . . ." Bobby began, but he followed Dean over to the cab of the truck and sure enough, there was Sam. A horrifically thin and abused looking Sam, who looked half asleep and was leaning back into the seat. 

"Come on, Sammy." Dean opened the door carefully, in case Sam was leaning on it. He fished around behind the seat and pulled out a small bag, slinging it across his shoulders before helping Sam out of the truck. "Let's get you horizontal on a bed that doesn't suck ass. You feel up to eating or drinking anything?" Bobby thought Sam's green look was more than answer enough. "Right. Let's hear it for IV fluids." Apparently Dean agreed, though Bobby wondered where the hell Dean thought he was going to be getting them.

Bobby watched as Dean eased a mostly limp Sam out of the truck, and moved in to get a shoulder under Sam's other arm. It didn't take him and Dean long to get Sam inside and stretched out on the sofa. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and they covered him with a blanket. 

Alec had trailed them into the room and took the bag from Dean, pulling things out with one hand. Bobby leaned in the doorway, observing as Alec efficiently laid out a partially empty IV bag, a sealed package of tubing, and a roll of surgical tape. "I looked up all the shit they'd been giving him while you were sleeping," he said. "And I gotta say, dude, I couldn't even find a fourth of it. What I could find was standard shit that you most likely don't want to know about. I've played ball with a lot of it before. He'll sleep it off. For the rest, they must have been friggin' paying the chemists overtime."

"Did you sleep at all?" Dean asked, as he slapped Alec's hand away from Sam. Dean carefully pulled Sam's right hand out from under the blanket and rolled up his sleeve away from his hand. Sam didn't even stir, which was weird for him. Bobby knew the boy was a light sleeper. 

"Nope." The tone suggested that Alec didn't want to argue. He hung the bag of fluid from the floor lamp knob at the end of the sofa and after working all the air out of the tubing, got it hooked to the IV port already in Sam's hand with Dean's help. He was pretty damned efficient for only using one hand. 

"Then you sleep after we get your arm into a sling and you take another pain pill." Apparently Dean felt like arguing anyway, and he was playing daddy. Bobby quelled his curiosity for the moment. Dean would spill later, or Bobby would withhold beer.

"You know I'm built to be able to go ninety-six hours without sleep," the weird double said, almost smugly.

"Yeah, and I bet that's if you're fighting fit, but you've had a bullet dug out of your collarbone by an amateur and bled out a couple of pints of blood. So it's naptime."

"What the hell hornet's nest have you been stirring up, Dean?" The question popped out before Bobby could stop it, despite his earlier resolve to keep his trap shut for the moment. But he didn't need to be asked to fish an old sling out of the hall closet, or to help Dean get Alec's arm properly supported while he ignored the kid's scowl. Dean steered Alec to the recliner and pushed him into it, then fished in his pocket and pulled out a single pill. He held it out to Alec. Bobby watched as the boy picked it up and actually sniffed it.

"Dude, are you always this suspicious?" Dean made a disgruntled disbelieving face. Alec just cut a look over to Sam. Dean held his hands up in surrender. "Fair enough. It's just another of the same stuff I gave you in the motel room." He returned Alec's steady searching look for a long moment silently, and then nodded as Alec tossed it back dry. "Now get some rest."

"I'm fine." The kid's chin tilted up in a defiant look that Bobby knew well, although he was more used to seeing it from Sam. 

"Kid, don't forget, I know that face. And I know tired when I see it. We're safe as churches. Sleep." The tension in Dean's shoulders eased just a little as the kid gave a defeated and annoyed huff.

Bobby raised his eyebrows at Dean. "You done playin' momma bear, boy?"

"Yes?" Dean guessed at the right answer. No one sane wanted Bobby annoyed at them. Even John thought twice about crossing the man. John also seemed to take leave of his senses somewhere between thinking twice and three times.

"Good. Now you get your ass into the kitchen, sit it down, and explain." Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder and moved him along. Once he had Dean in a chair, he got the young man a mug of black coffee, and then sat himself back down in the chair he had left when he had first heard the truck pull up. "Now let's start with why you brought a monster into my house, and why you're treating it like one of your own."

"Don't you ever say that about him again." Dean's eyes had narrowed in anger and his coffee mug had been thumped down hard enough to slosh. Well, that was interesting. Whoever or whatever the mimic was, he had gotten under Dean's skin and settled into the blood and bone of him already. He must have been new, because Bobby had seen Dean only four months ago.

"Dean, he snarled at Rumsfeld. And won. That just ain't something a human could do. And come to think of it, I can't think of a supernatural ugly that he'd back down before either." He rested his elbows on the table and leaned towards Dean. "So why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"He's our brother. "

"You sure about that, boy? Because from where I'm sitting, I see a weird-ass shapeshifter. And I think Johnny would be damned surprised to learn that he misplaced his oldest son's twin brother. Drink your coffee. It isn't gonna do you any good sitting there in the mug." 

"I'm sure, Bobby. Just as sure as I am about Sam." Dean looked down at his mug, then lifted it and took a swallow. "But you're right. He isn't human. At least, not entirely. He called himself an X5."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means he's a government science project. This isn't a supernatural mess we're in, Bobby. This is government."

"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. I think it's about time you started from the beginning. And this time I actually mean it."

Dean grinned then. The sarcastic grin that screamed 'shoot me now'. "Oh, and Dad's missing. And by 'missing', I mean 'took off'. Had I mentioned that yet?"

Bobby got up and got them each a beer. Dean looked like he could use that more than coffee. "The beginning, Dean."

"Dad and I had split up to take two different jobs. He had one lined up in California; I took one in New Hampshire. We were going to meet up again in Arizona. Kind of a midpoint, you know?"

"Some midpoint."

"Guess Dad slept through basic geography. I don't wanna talk about it." Bobby rolled his eyes and waited. "Something was chasing my ass across the country. Finally corners me in Arizona, where Dad noticeably wasn't, and I was expecting something ugly. You know, like a harpy, or some girl's pissed off father. Instead I get the kid and two of his friends. He hit me with a tranquilizer. How fucking unfair is that? Someday I'll get him for it. Anyway, next thing I know, I'm being questioned by some pencil neck."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" His hand came up to his chest in a mock defensive manner. That was when Bobby was able to place what was visually wrong with Dean. His pendant was gone, and so were his bracelets and his ring. Bobby couldn't remember a time when Dean had ever been without those little protection charms, aside from the first time they had met. He and Sam had given Dean that pendant. The only way Dean would ever been without that gift from Sam was if someone took it. Dean's hand dropped back to the table quickly, like he had just been reminded of what he was missing.

"What else?"

"They brought in this cutie after I punched the first guy in the face one too many times. And they weren't even asking normal questions. It was all about Sam." He looked down then. "And I answered. Everything she asked, I answered. She fucking Obi-Wanned me and I answered. Sam's hurt because I couldn't fight off some chick's mind whammy."

"Stow it and tell the story." Bobby decided to try to chip away at some of Dean's misplaced guilt later, when he had a handle on the situation. 

"I don't know what happened next. I spent a lot of time bored out of my God damned mind in a cement cell." He thought about how Alec had been sent in to kill him and the suicidal drama that had followed, but chose to not say anything. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bobby, because he did. But Alec's trust was still pretty fragile. If he wanted to keep the kid, he knew he would have to tread carefully for a while. "MacGyvered my way out of the cell once. Got tossed back in and cooled my heels until Alec had a change of heart and sprung me." 

"He kidnapped you and then just changed his mind about it?" 

"Something happened. And what they were doing to Sammy bothered him." Dean shook his head and took a long swallow of his beer. "I don't know. And I think it's going to be a long while before the kid feels like sharing." He looked up and looked Bobby square in the face. "I don't know what happens in that place, but I know fear and pain when I smell it, and it bled from the walls. He wanted to get gone and help me get Sammy out. I wasn't gonna say no. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna leave him there." 

Bobby couldn't manage anything but a nod. Not much frightened a boy that grew up fighting the most frightening nightmares the world had to offer, but Bobby could see fear now. This place, wherever or whatever it was, had spooked him. Bobby knew Dean well enough to understand that he wouldn't leave a dying dog in a place like that, much less someone wearing his own face. "Fine. Now you tell me what it is you brought into my home and what wrong with Sam."

Dean nodded and took another pull from his beer bottle. "Alec says he's an X5. Apparently they're government made super soldiers. I've gone a round or two with a couple of them. They're as tough as you would guess a super soldier should be, but they play by the books. All military regulation. At least some of them." Dean turned the bottle endlessly around in his hands. "He said that they were built. Made from stolen clones of the children of military parents. All of our imperfections taken out and replaced with something else. Part of it's cat, I guess. I dunno. We haven't had a lot of time to talk about it."

"Then leave it for now. How does this come around to you and Sam?" Dean looked down at his beer bottle and said nothing. "Dean?"

"They sent him to Stanford to play me and kidnap Sammy." He wouldn't look up. "Armed with information I gave them. I guess he fooled Sam well enough to get him out the door. And then Sam just went with him willingly, to get to me." Bobby knew that had to hurt. They'd both walk into fire for the other. No questions asked. Dean only minded when Sam was the one who got burnt.

"Why? Why all this just to get one kid playing unassuming college student?" That was really where Bobby got stuck. He knew that Sam had a brain like a well-oiled steel trap, but there were other geniuses that would have been easier marks. Hell, they already had Dean, and he was just as smart as his little brother. 

"Because he's psychic." It sounded like it hurt Dean to say it. Bobby knew John had been careful to raise his boys without the prejudice against them that a lot of hunters had. Without the prejudice again magic and the like until it was proven evil. But that didn't change how others might see Sam. How he might be the hunted if they weren't careful. Bobby knew John had kept secrets. "But he can't be. I'd have fucking _noticed._"

Bobby knew an opening when he saw it. "Not necessarily."

"What?" Dean's head had snapped up and he had fixed his attention on Bobby.

"You might not have. Not if it never showed. Or it may have showed in a way you were so used to seeing that you never noticed it. Psychic gifts are tricky, Dean. You know that."

"Yeah, but . . ." He set the beer bottle down. "Those sorts of things usually show up in children and adolescents. Or that's what Dad and Missouri said. Sam is kinda past that, don't you think?"

"Not much past. He only finished growing in the last year or so. And look at him, Dean. His body was throwing everything it had into keeping up. He went from a little on the small plump side to the Jolly Green Genius. It's possible that it's only had a chance to turn its energy to something else recently." He took his hat off and scratched his forehead. "It's also possible that these jackasses are full of shit." 

"That's a given. Either way." 

XXXXX

Elizabeth Renfro actually jumped when she flipped on the light in her office and found a man sitting comfortably at her desk. He had used one of her coffee mugs to make himself some tea, and was calmly reading a recent issue of The Star, the younger red-headed stepbrother of the National Enquirer, with the end of a stick pen held between his teeth. 

The man was simply dressed in a blue cable knit sweater, and his shoulder length gray hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. How he had been reading in the feeble light from the closed window curtains, she would most likely never know. He looked up and took the pen out of his mouth. "Lizzie." He smiled at her with the quiet way he had. 

Her eyebrow arched "I hate it when you call me that." 

"I know." He folded the rag magazine and set it to the side. "I see you finally got the boy out."

For the first time, she regretted not having any chairs in her office besides her own. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the wall. "Yes. It wasn't easy. 494 is stubbornly loyal to his unit. It would have helped if you had made him easier to manage." 

He let out a bark of laughter. "I had nothing to do with his attitude. Even I'm not good enough to arrange someone's personality." Sandeman sat forward in her chair, interest and curiosity lighting up his face. "Well, how did you manage it?"

"He grew unreasonably attached to an assignment. Again. And I used them as a vehicle to encourage his escape." She pushed off the wall and closed the door to her office firmly before heading over to her desk. "You're in my chair."

"It's a very comfy chair. Who was the assignment? Anyone of interest?"

"Samuel Winchester." A slight, sly smirk spread across her face. "Does the last name ring any bells?" she asked, wondering if he remembered the name from twenty-one years ago on 494's genetic assay.

"You had Sam Winchester here. In this facility." He looked outright startled. Clearly he remembered the name without difficulty. "How on God's green earth did you manage to get him here?"

"We brought in Dean Winchester and had 494 mimic him. The youngest came in easily enough. How do you know them?"

"Never mind that." He waved her question off. "Count yourself lucky that this place is still standing. The Winchesters are a force to be respected and not trifled with." He gave her a very serious look. "However, you couldn't have picked a better way to protect 494 than by returning him to his blood family. Nicely done." 

"Thank you." Sandeman was about the only person on earth that could confuse and derail her. He did it frequently enough to make up for the rest of the world's deficiency. 

"So let me see the mission reports and the information you gathered." He clapped his hands together once in a sort of academic glee. "If it has to do with any of the Winchesters or 494, have it make it' way here. Files, reports, clothing, toe nail clippings, all of it. I have some catching up to do. And fetch dinner, Lizzie. It's going to be a long evening." This seemed to amuse him immensely. He shooed her away. "And you may want to get yourself another chair."

XXXXX

Dean and Bobby settled back into a sort of strange domestic pattern that they had built up over the years of the boys being left in Bobby's care. It was an odd sort of partnership that Bobby saw clearly, but he wasn't sure Dean would ever see for what it was. Dean took care of Sam, but someone had to take care of Dean. 

When Bobby had first made their acquaintance, Dean was likely to take someone's hand off if they got too close to Sammy. Anyone but John, that was. He was startled by the amount of protective instinct and violence that could come out of one adorably sad, mute, five-year-old boy. 

Dean took care of his little brother. His entire world revolved around Sam. If little Sammy was the Earth, then Dean was his Moon and John was the sun covering them both. That had been the first of John and Bobby's arguments. Bobby had said it wasn't healthy for Dean to be so focused like that. John didn't give a fuck about healthy. They didn't have time for therapy, and if Dean was focused on Sam, then he would talk to _someone_, and even smiled on occasion. 

Bobby learned then that no one else was allowed to take care of Sammy, but Dean would let people take care of him, if it was couched into the right terms. When he was little, the way to get through his wall of silence was that everything was for Sammy. He could cook for Dean if Dean could watch so he could learn to cook for Sam. Bobby could get him into bed for the night, if he could share Sam's bed. Because then he was there if Sam needed him. 

Bobby always suspected that Dean knew Bobby had been playing him all those years ago, but as Dean grew older and out of his silence and even started to sometimes want things for himself, they never brought it up. 

The man knew that Dean was about done in when they reverted back to their old pattern from when Dean was only eight and wanted a daddy and John was off on a hunt. Dean sat on the counter quietly while he watched Bobby cook, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he finally let someone else take care of him.

Bobby was a breakfast man. At any hour of the day. Simple and healthy enough. Sort of. If you ignored the grease, which Bobby did. He rustled around in the fridge and fished out a dozen eggs, bacon, bread for toast, and a couple of pieces of fruit. He juggled everything with expertise gained over years of being too lazy to want to make a second fridge trip, and made his way over to the counter by the stove. He slapped an apple into Dean's hand on his way by to get a bowl to mix eggs in.

"So why's your girl in a trailer?" He watched as Dean took a bite of the apple and started cracking eggs into the bowl.

"She needs some work. And I think her mojo is spent." He looked at the apple, turning it in his hand before saying anything else. "Alec was driving her. Without permission. HHHe said he thought she didn't like him much. She's got a bullet hole in one of her back panels, the back windshield is blown, and one of the windows shattered." He took another bite of the apple. "And her paint is scratched. Also, I think she needs Sam to redo her protections, but he's gotta be awake to do it."

"That window is gonna be a pain in the ass." He slapped a pan full of eggs on the stove, followed by the bacon. Talking mechanics always eased Dean's nerves. Nothing to fight with car parts, and hardly ever someone's life on the line.

"I know. The door is going to have to come apart." 

"Yep. Least we have the parts." He jabbed at the eggs with a spatula. "Got an Impala dumped here not so long ago. It's too trashed to even think about saving, but the body is still okay."

Dean nodded and slipped off the counter to throw the apple core away and start the toast. The first thing he had ever taught the boy to make, at John's request. The man could handle a gun the way most men handled their lovers, but anything in the kitchen? It acted like it was possessed when John Winchester breathed too close to it.

So Bobby Singer, long time hunter and information man, demon expert and mechanic, was charged with teaching _cooking_ to a child. And he had thought, before the Winchesters, that the demons were what made his life weird. He flipped the bacon and watched Dean. He remembered when he used to have to lift him up and set him on the counter.

He remembered when they were a bit older, Dean would sit on the counter and read car magazines or hunter compiled bestiaries while Sammy sat at the table learning some new bit of magic, researching a hunt, or simply doing his homework. Sam may have looked like the brains of the family, but Dean always had a quick and accurate answer to any of Sam's questions. Questions Sam would ask without even looking up from his books, because he knew without a doubt that Dean would have an answer for him. Bobby wondered how he always managed to keep one step ahead of his baby brother. Were there ever really that many hours in a day?

After a few more minutes, he and Dean had piled the meal onto a few plates and were carrying it into the living room. Alec was already awake, looking pretty damned alert. Bobby handed him a plate and fork while Dean coaxed Sam back into the waking world. 

Bobby settled down on the footrest, because he wasn't going to kick someone with a gunshot wound out of the chair. Alec balanced the plate of his knees and poke at the bacon with his fork. "Just bacon, kid. It's already dead; it won't bite."

"I've never had any before." He picked it up and sniffed it. Actually sniffed it. Then he shrugged and took a small bite. The rest of the piece was quickly shoved into his mouth. He seemed oblivious to the fact that Bobby and Dean were staring at him. 

Even Sam had perked up enough to give him a funny look. "You're serious. You've never had bacon?" Trust curiosity to make Sam feel better.

"Uh, no?" Alec shrugged. "They only give us health food." He grinned and it was a lot like Dean's. That made sense, given that he had Dean's face, but somehow Bobby hadn't been expecting it. "But this tastes a hell of a lot better."

"The food was pretty damned boring." Dean spoke around a mouthful of toast. "If I ever see another piece of wheat bread, I think I'll hurl."

"Grudge much?" Sam asked, and then yawned until his jaw popped and rubbed at his face. 

"All I got, dude. Friggin' wheat bread sandwiches." He handed Sam a piece of toast with a look that said Sam had better at least try to eat it.

"That's all they gave you?" Alec asked, between bites of egg.

"Uh . . . after I escaped from my cell with a bedspring and a paperback book, they weren't giving me much to work with."

"My brother, MacGyver." Sam actually cracked a tired smile, then wrinkled his nose as he took a miniscule bit of the toast.

"Past the X5 guards?" Alec was looking impressed.

"Yeah. Well, one guard."

"Still. Friggin' X5. We're the best. What did they look like?" Alec was curious now. It sure as hell hadn't been anyone from his unit. Not because he didn't think Dean could take any of them, but just because he was sure they would have told him if they'd been knocked out by someone that looked like him. "Male or female?"

"Uh." Dean was a little taken off guard by Alec's interest. "Guy. Kinda Hispanic looking. Black hair in a short ponytail. Came to about my chin."

"Denny." Alec knew immediately who it was, and that Denny had gotten his ass chewed by Jules. 

"So how many of you are there?" Sam asked. 

Alec found his mouth sticking closed. That was tactical information, more than personal, and he had been trained to never give that away. Hell, he shouldn't have told them what he already had. 

Dean saw the hard, tense line of Alec's jaw and sighed. "Dude, he's just curious. That's the way Sammy is. He's going to be pelting you with questions until you want to gag him."

"Hey!" It was sleepy but indignant.

"Shut up, Sammy. Besides, are you ever going to go back to them?" Dean asked him. It was a reasonable question, and he was willing to wait for an answer. Dean figured that these X5s had been put through a lot of conditioning. It didn't take much when you had someone from the time they were born. Hell, even Sam had been unbreakably conditioned by the way he had been raised. Sam had left the hunt about as far behind as he could, going from rat trap motels in back water podunk towns to friggin' Stanford, and Dean knew for a fact that he still couldn't sleep if the room wasn't salted and sealed and that Sam would never be without a weapon. John had instilled that caution into them, into Sam from before his first birthday, and Dean had made sure it stuck.

Dean was pretty sure that harsher methods than constant repetition and patient lessons to teach a five year old how to handle a weapon had been used with Alec. So he ate a piece of toast and waited for Alec to figure out that he had no home left, that the only direction he could go was forward. That wasn't something you wanted to rush a person into.

Alec stared across the room at a bookshelf filled with things that were so foreign to him that he might as well have been on Mars. He knew he should go back. It was instinct just as deeply ingrained in him as the need to give chase when prey/target ran. Honestly he even wanted to go back. For Lydecker. The only person who had ever been proud of him. Who had given him second chances when he had screwed up so badly he didn't deserve them. Who still thought he could be a good soldier, hell, a good commander, even when his twin, his exact copy, had gone completely crackers. And then there were the other X5s. Those were his unit siblings he was leaving behind. For people he had only known or pretended to be for a month. People who were his siblings by blood as opposed to those he had been raised with. Did the blood relation really mean that much? 

No, he decided, it didn't, but Biggs had been right. He was falling apart inside. And it was Biggs who had gotten him moving. Biggs, who got him out. Biggs, who was his first memory, his brother, and his best friend. It wasn't a betrayal. It was self-preservation at the request of someone he trusted and who would watch out for the Unit in his place.

If he was going to be honest, Biggs and CeCe were about the only people he trusted to know how much he could take. He trusted them over himself. When Psy-Ops had been done with him when he was ten, he had barely known his own designation code and had no urge to do anything. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have even known how, they had stripped him so bare. Eventually, something had started to show through. And there had been Biggs and CeCe waiting. Like they had known the entire time that he would make it back.

But now he had moved out from under their protection. And out from under the Colonel's, too. Biggs had given him the push to start him moving, but he had run with it. He was out of chances. He didn't think that the colonel would protect him this time. 

But the Winchesters, if nothing else, were offering freedom. He thought that maybe his independent streak, which had caused so much trouble for him, wouldn't be such a problem. They were certainly weird enough. Hell, maybe docility wasn't supposed to be the norm.

Or maybe Sam and Dean, his brothers, at least by blood, which was just as valid as by unit he guessed, were anything but docile. Dean was aggressive. Not hostile, just aggressive. He was one of those people that you couldn't help but take notice of. Clearly, Alec's ability to disappear in plain sight was a learned skill, or maybe a product of his tampered genes. 

He looked over at Sam, who was slouched down into the sofa, sleeping again or resting or whatever the hell he was doing while Alec tried to decide if he would answer, his long legs folded up. Alec realized he actually knew very little about Sam. He knew he was an excellent actor, given the way he led Alec on those first two day. He knew Sam had a mind like a steel trap and an iron will to walk headfirst into a kidnapping just to gain the remote chance of helping his brother. He supposed he could add fiercely loyal to the list. 

All the introspection and analysis was making him want to bang his head into a wall. Alec had always been a Bottom Line, Up Front type of person. The bottom line here was that Dean was right. He couldn't and wouldn't be going back to base, going back home. But that also didn't mean he would turn on his unit sibs. 

"That's tactical information." 

"Not really, dude." Dean paused. "Well okay, maybe it is, but that's not why Sammy asked. We're not going back there. My main mission right now is to keep Sammy as far away from them as possible. He's just trying to find out about you. He's one of though people that always reads the 'human interest' stories in the newspapers. Aren't you Sammy?"

Sam didn't even bother to open his eyes; he just lifted a hand in a one fingered salute. At least he was paying attention.

Alec considered it. Then took a deep breath. "There's about eighty-seven of us X5s total. I think."

"You only think?" Dean asked.

"Eighty-seven's not really an 'about' number," Sam said, without opening his eyes. Alec noticed that he did a lot without opening his eyes. He wondered why.

"Four units of twenty-five. At least that's what we were in the beginning. Alpha lost two that I'm sure of. And fourteen ran for the wire; one was killed on the way out." Alec's voice went hard, remembering the punishment that had come down on the twins left behind, himself being one of them. "So I don't know if they're alive, but they're X5s so we'll assume yes. My unit's lost four, five if you include me. Charlie's lost three, and Delta lost two, which drops us down to eighty-seven. But some are out on missions, so who knows about them. Thus 'about'."

Dean wanted to ask why Alec's unit had lost more, but instinct told him that now just wasn't the time. 

XXXXX 

_He sat sideways on the sofa, his eyes skipping over the sea of clutter to watch a girl sitting in front of a monstrous sprawling beast of a computer. She was cute, totally cute, but that wasn't what had his attention. It was what she was rattling off. "Not like I ever expected to tell you anything about yourself, geez. Give a freak a break, man." Sam watched as she shook her head and looked up at the ceiling as she rattled off Alec's information quickly. "331845739494 aka X5-494 aka Raz aka Simon Lehane, limited success in reconditioning after we jumped, reconditioned again after the Berrisford incident, flight risk, high risk for aberrant, overseas deployment, CO . . . et cetera, et cetera. You lived it. Oh, and your file had a DNT memo attached."_

_But his attention was no longer on the speaking girl. He was now staring at Alec with concern as his new brother seemed to fall apart. Right in front of his eyes. This didn't seem right at all. Sam knew he shouldn't be there, at least not right now. Alec's hand went up to his head and he hunched in on himself like he just been kicked in the head, or just that something blindingly painful was trying to make itself know. "I didn't have a name," Alec said, but it was more like a moan or a plea._

_He whipped around to look at the pretty girl, hoping desperately that she had an answer, but she was looking at Alec in utter confusion. "Hey. You okay?" she asked Alec, but he wasn't paying the least bit of attention. Sam wondered if this was what a vision looked like from the outside, because they had lost Alec to something they couldn't see._

_Sam crouched down next to Dean and his newest brother. Dean was holding Alec up. He opened his mouth _to call him by name, but it wasn't right and it stuck in his throat. And then it was gone. Nothing left but pain.

"Dean!" Alec's voice was sharp, urgent and Dean bolted, Bobby tight on his heel. He got there just in time to see Sam curl up like he's been jabbed in the belly. Or like something blindingly painful was trying to crawl out of his head.

XXXXX


	11. Chapter 11

lj-cut text"Agents of Fortune 11, in which Sam has a rough day, John meets two women and likes neither of them, Dean compiles lists, Bobby gets a package, and Alec spends some quality time hiding in a bathroom

_A/N: Let me first say that you shouldn't let John deter you from ever visiting the tide pools, if you're in San Diego. Cabrillo Point, plus the Coast Gaurd and Naval Base are real. John stole part of my vacation._

_Wal-Mart. To quote parody!Boromir: "There is an evil there that does not sleep." I firmly believe this. But I do still shop there. Call me weak._

_Biggs and Deck. I know three minutes is a really long time. I meant it to be. This is a true cat fact and Biggs is not a happy camper. Also, on the subject of Alec and seizures, I know that in canonical Dark Angel, Alec doesn't have them. But then again, in season 2, Max doesn't have them either. If it's a flaw that they "fixed", the Dark Angel canon never makes that clear, so I figure that Alec's lack of seizures in the series is an oversight of the show's writers. One that I am happy to correct, because one can never have enough hurt/comfort._

_That's it. Done being cryptic. _

Chapter 11

"Dean!" Alec's voice was sharp and urgent, and Dean bolted, with Bobby tight on his heels. He got there just in time to see Sam curl up like some sort of unearthed beetle.

"Sam?" He tried to straighten his brother's long frame, tried to see what was wrong, but it was like all of his muscles had locked. The only reply he got was a low whimpering moan. "Come on, Sammy." Dean could hear his own voice edging towards panic as Sam's hands came up and fisted in his hair, pressing down on his temples with bruising force.

Dean turned some of his attention to Alec "What the hell happened?"

"Nothing. He was asleep." Sam made another pained noise, low in his throat. Alec wasn't looking at Dean; he was watching Sam. "I think he's having a vision."

"Dean, he's bleeding." Bobby's voice was low as he crouched next to them. He grabbed a wad of tissues from the box next to the sofa.

"Jesus." Dean looked at his brother's face and the blood streaming from his nose.

"Sit him up," Alec ordered suddenly.

"He won't. I don't think - "

Alec cut Dean off. "Sit him up. Or he'll choke on it. I read the damned file. Sit him the hell up!"

That was all Bobby needed to hear, although Dean was right. It wasn't easy. Sam was a strong kid, even with the way he seemed to have faded to a slip of the teenager Bobby had last seen. In the end, he uncurled enough for them to get him sitting and his head tipped forward.

"It's like he's having a fucking seizure." Dean didn't notice Alec's attention switch to him for a brief second, but Bobby did, and wondered what was going through the X5's head.

Sam had fallen silent, but it was clearly from an inability to make noise, not from any sort of relief. Dean had an arm wrapped around him, and the other was gripping Sam's wrist. Not as though he was trying to loosen Sam's fist, but more like a Winchester alternative to hand holding. Alec was holding the tissues to Sam's nose and pinching the bridge of it at the same time. He was using his other hand to press two fingers to Sam's neck, just under and forward of the hinge of his jaw, clearly monitoring his pulse. Apparently he had shed the sling at some point. "Come on, Sam. Quit it with the frightened rabbit impression." With the sedatives and muscle relaxants leaving his system, his heart was jackhammering in response to whatever was going on in his head. His breathing wasn't much better, but instead of being too fast, to match his pulse, it was like he was forgetting to breathe altogether. Alec wondered when he needed to start panicking. He really had read the file, and certainly hadn't missed the part where Sam had stopped breathing all together.

Then Sam went limp. There was no warning or preamble. Alec breathed a minute sigh of relief as Sam's breathing steadied out, but Dean panicked fully. "Sam! God, Sammy!" He shook his brother before anyone could stop him. He didn't shake Sam hard, but the results were not reassuring. Sam was limper than the proverbial wet noodle. 

Bobby crowded in and put a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder. "Steady it out, boy. No good to him if you lose your head." Bobby got a look at Sam's wide, staring eyes, and Sam just wasn't looking at them. Of that he was certain.

Sam came back to himself in a rush. There was a split second of confusion as to where he stood in the universe, as his eyes settled on Alec and his image wavered between now and the future from the vision. He blinked slowly and the other image fell away. Sam opened his mouth to call him by name, but it wasn't right and it stuck in his throat. And then it was gone. Nothing left but pain. A low and, later he would admit, an entirely pitiful moan slipped past his normally iron control.

"I think it's over," he heard Alec say quietly. Or maybe it was just the mile of water that he thought might be between then. Sam curled up, trying to escape the pain by pressing himself into Dean. He knew Dean, no matter what, now. Sam leaned into the comfort. The cool hand on his forehead, the other that rubbed circles across his back. But it was all distant. HHe hurt. In a way he had never felt before, and it crushed him in so there was no way out. He thought it might be in his head.

"Sure doesn't fucking look over," Dean ground out, as his brother adhered himself to him, like he could make it all better. Like he always tried to when they were younger.

"I'm gonna have to agree with Dean on this one, kid," Bobby put in. Sam was practically writhing in pain, his long fingers clenching down in Dean's shirt.

"I meant the vision. It's not like I'm an expert, but he was looking at me specifically just now, not staring in my general direction." Alec wiped the last of the blood off of Sam's face and tossed the wad of tissues into the trash basket that Bobby had produced. There were a lot of them. They would have a serious problem if these things started happening more often and he always lost that much blood.

"That stupid file say how to help him?" Dean asked over Sam's head.

Alec couldn't hold in the derisive snort. "What the hell have you been ingesting while we weren't looking? It's clearly affecting your thinking."

"I guess we'll assume no, then," Bobby said.

"You could assume that, yeah," Alec said.

"So they did this to him, but didn't have a way to control it?" Bobby asked dryly. He noted that Alec was perfectly balanced and apparently at ease on the balls of his feet. He could feel his own knees and thighs protesting at the mere thought. "Well if that ain't just stupid."

Alec shrugged. "What did they care? It wasn't about helping him, or using his power. It was about figuring out how it worked. Then pulling him apart until they found the right genetic sequence." His tone was frighteningly devoid of emotion. "They didn't give a fuck about how he felt."

Dean finally took his attention from Sam for a moment to glance at Alec. "I think he passed out."

"Good." Alec said. "Most likely the best thing for him." He rested his left arm on his thigh, the injury starting to ping, which meant, for a normal person, that it hurt like a bitch.

Dean really looked at Alec for the first time since the younger man had yelled for him. Some of the other things that Alec had already told them played through his mind, like how he was a Psy-Ops alumni, and how Sam wasn't one of them and couldn't take this abuse. About how Sam wasn't an experiment. If Alec made that distinction, it meant he was on one side of it and Sam was on the other.

Dean looked at the mask of flat acceptance on Alec's face and wondered what sort of damage was hiding underneath it. He hoped he was up to the task of putting both his little brothers back together.

XXXXX

John wasn't sure which annoyed him more: his general inability to deal with modern electronics, this God damned cell phone in particular, or the teenaged girl manning the kiosk next to him trying, ineffectually, to pretend that she wasn't laughing at him and his chronic dysfunction with electronics.

He was sitting at one of the those random table that malls like leaving strewn about, fighting to figure out how his new cell phone worked. It was times like this that he desperately missed Sam. The kid would have picked it up, looked at it for three seconds, and known everything there was to know about it. He would have then explained it to his father in under ten minutes using plain English. Not whatever crap the manual claimed was English.

His old cell phone was what would have been considered out of date, but it had worked well enough for his needs, which amounted to making and receiving phone calls. It was capable of more, but he never used the features.

Unfortunately, the damned thing hadn't survived his last hunt. The entire hunt had been a mess. It had been a mermaid. Not as enchanting as Disney had made them out to be. Or as beautifully tragic as Hans Christian Anderson had portrayed them. This bitch had been more like something out of the original Peter Pan. Vicious, murdering, and hateful. Her human-looking mouth had held teeth which were more shark-like than anything else, and she had only left one survivor. He had been a gibbering mess when John had finally gotten a chance to talk to him. Not that John blamed him. He had been a deep sea fisherman before he and his crew had pulled up something that they wished that hadn't. She had killed them all, except this one poor sailor.

The killings were being ruled as a shark attack. John didn't know how a shark was capable of ripping a full grown man literally limb from limb, leaving clear evidence of clawed hand prints. Or why it would eat the tender organs and leave everything else behind, either.

Near as he could gather from the crewman and the Coast Guard reports, they had hauled her up in their nets, and she had torn them apart before they could even consider turning her loose. Days later, the Coast Guard had found the drifting ship and the bloody massacre. The lone crewman had been barricaded into a storage unit, badly injured but alive.

Then the killings had started along Cabrillo Point, where there was a Coast Guard base and a large area covered in tide pools that drew in tourists. Oblivious, innocent tourists. She had followed the Coast Guard ship in and settled in for what amounted to the monster version of delivery Chinese.

Unfortunately, after a couple of solid hours of research, he still hadn't found a way to kill her, and he hadn't had time to do much more than that. She liked to eat and eat often. He sort of wondered how fat the bitch was.

He had to wing it. He hated doing that, especially when she had the advantage of location. The tide pools were smooth and sometimes slick at the bottom of the surf smoothed cliff. When the tide was out, there was smooth sandstone shelves sloping to the sea with the cliff face at the back. When the tide was in, there was sea and the cliff face. No safe ground for a hunter either way.

He discarded he normal first defense of rock salt. She was a sea creature. Salt would have no effect, or if it did, it would be in her favor. After that, all he had was deductive reasoning and a revolver to back him up. Some legends considered mermaids to be fae, so three of his six bullets were Sam's favored ammo, Winchester Black Talons. There was enough iron to do supernatural damage, and the flaring tips would put a huge hole in her, which would have to hurt. The other three bullets were silver. She wasn't a shifter, but the sea and many of the things in it were ruled by the moon.

He alternated the rounds and figured he would have to shoot her at least twice. If one kind of bullet didn't do it, he would just have to pray that the other did. He also wrapped a plastic bag around the gun and his hand. It made his aim and just about everything else a bit clumsy, but that was better than the gun getting doused in sea water and misfiring.

The fight had not been pleasant. Neither had been salting and burning her in wet conditions on a closed tourist area under the nose of the Coast Guard and within sight of a Naval base while everyone was on edge about the recent murders. The only reason he had made it out undetected was because he had the same training as the people searching for him and then some.

When he had finally made it back to his motel room, he was soaked, dirty, bruised, and bleeding. He cleaned up the teeth marks and tightly wrapped his twisted knee after shedding his sodden clothes and drying off. He had fallen into bed after that and it wasn't until the next morning that he discovered his phone was smashed and waterlogged in the back pocket of his still wet jeans.

Not knowing what else to do, he had found a place in a nearby mall that seemed to specialize in confusing the technologically disinclined and handed the wary sales clerk his smashed phone in a Zip-Lock bag and a credit card, with the statement that he wanted a new phone and his old number. A few minutes later, the man had come back with a small box, his credit card, and something John recognized from the wet baggy. He was told it was his memory card and then it was explained to him, as though he were five, that if he put it in his new phone, he would have access to his phone book and such. John thought he was being a good sport by not punching the man. He almost asked the man to do it himself, but Winchester Pride (and the fact that the man looked terrified of him) made him veto that plan.

This all culminated with John sitting at a table near a sunglasses kiosk manned by a teenaged girl with bad acting skills, ready to pull his hair out. He resisted the urge to sigh and settled for running his tired hand over his face and through his hair. He was more than a little startled when the phone and card were snatched out of his hand. "God, are you deficient?" He looked up at the girl that was now holding his phone like she was born with one in her hand. "Why do you even have it if you don't know how to use it?" She fiddled with it for a moment and then handed it back, memory card apparently installed with ease. "You've got messages."

John was still trying to decide if he wanted to thank her or throttle her, but she had already gone back to her kiosk. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to get to his voice mail, but he managed. He'd be damned if he was going to have to ask the girl for help. He finally bit the bullet and listened to the message from his son.

XXXXX

Sam woke up the next morning hungry. Dean swore that pretty soon he was just going to start at one end of the kitchen and eat his way to the others. "Dude, are you just eating white bread?"

"Bobby's out of peanut butter."

"Because you ate it. Are you pregnant?"

"Shut up. I haven't eaten anything thing in . . . uh, how long has it been?" Sam leaned against the counter and watched Dean, who was jealously guarding his lunch at the table.

"Longer than I wanna think about," Dean said, considering his brother. Sam was skin and bones. He had long since shed anything spare from his frame years ago with his first real growth spurt. What a joy that had been. Sammy had shot up so fast that he had had growing pains that he swore hurt more than broken bones. Dean believed it. The kid had never cried that much at a broken bone. He and their dad had taken turns staying up with him and rubbing his suddenly stork long legs and bony arms. Hell, John had even found a hunt in Arizona. Every place in the valley around Phoenix had a hot tub. Dean remembered sitting on the warm pavement while his brother cooked the aches away, and sometimes finally fell asleep.

The point was that Sam hadn't had any fat to burn, and while they had made sure he had had enough nutrients to keep from dying, it clearly hadn't been enough for him to actually live on. Dean could clearly see how his body had started to eat away at muscle to fuel itself. Baby brother was leaning because he wasn't steady enough to stand quite yet. Dean wasn't going to knock that. At least today he was moving, even if it was like an old man. And while he had mocked Sam about the oddity of just eating white bread, Dean was pretty sure Sam was eating that because he was sure he would keep it down. He had looked positively moss colored when Dean had offered to make him eggs.

Sam's lack of appetite was just one more thing on Dean's growing list of 'things about Sammy that were freaking him the fuck out.' It was a long but appropriate title. Also on the list? Visions. It was its own subcategory. Under it Dean listed seeing the future, the fact that he couldn't remember what he saw (What the hell kind of gift was that?), and the fact that he wasn't home in his own body when it happened. Oh, and had Dean mentioned the excessive bleeding from the nose like his little brother's brain had just broken? No, he thought he hadn't.

He was starting a list like that for Alec too. He was still working on a name for it, because 'Reasons I may have to kill those fuckers that raised him' just didn't have the right ring to it. The list had grown substantially longer during their morning trip to Wal-Mart. To be fair, he couldn't blame Alec for finding the store creepy. After all, he was pretty sure that the chain was the work of the devil. What had creeped the kid out the most? Those stupid yellow smiley faces.

What had creeped Dean out the most was nothing so simple. It was watching how Alec interacted with the normal world. The way he had stood dumbfounded in the men's department, stumped by the available choices. Dean had eventually just grabbed a couple of things. He also hadn't missed the well-concealed twitch of disapproval Alec had made when he had grabbed a plain grey sweatshirt. Dean ditched it and snagged a black one instead. That seemed to get the kid moving.

After that, Dean just stood back and watched. Alec didn't move like he was career military. In fact, his posture and mannerisms loosened up as Dean watched, like he was mimicking the people around him. Learning what was normal by example. If the kid could pick things up that quickly, he figured it wouldn't be too difficult to pass him off as a twin brother. Dean couldn't believe he was being forced to use a cart, but while Alec was flitting around picking out a wardrobe, Dean set about rebuilding Sam's, and there was just too much to carry in a basket. It would be a cold day in Hell when Dean didn't know his baby brother's clothes sizes. After a minute, Dean considered how much weight Sam had lost and tossed in a belt. It was only when Alec dropped a stack of clothes into the cart that Dean realized that no one had gotten any closer than three feet to the X5. If anyone did get within arm's length, Alec deftly shifted position so Dean or the cart was between then.

Dean started his list for Alec with the fact that the kid had actually thought that Dean wouldn't help him when he had been shot. That was followed up by horror, because if Dean digging a bullet out had been the nicest bullet extraction he had ever had, then those bastards deserved to beaten for that alone. Ideally, a person shouldn't even be _aware_ of that kind of rough treatment. If that was the sort of handling Alec was used to, it was no wonder that he had an aversion to contact. Dean didn't even want to touch on the fact that the kid hadn't had a name, which he found weird, since he had known the names of other kids, like the one that Dean had knocked out. Or that he had a barcode branded into his DNA like he was a piece of fucking property.

Dean looked over to the living room as Alec appeared in the doorway. The kid moved like a ghost, dead silent. He supposed saying he moved like a cat would be more appropriate, but since when did Dean care about appropriate? "You hungry?" Dean asked, and stood to get the kid some lunch. He hadn't eaten breakfast, just drank a couple of glasses of milk.

Alec shook his head and went to the fridge. He took out the bottle of milk, eyed the amount left critically, and started drinking it from the bottle. Maybe Dean was seeing things, but he thought the kid looked worse now than he had the day before. His freckles were standing out more against his face. But the kid didn't say anything, and the shoulder wound was fine. Dean had checked it earlier, and it looked like it had been healing and healing well for a week. He paused between swallows to peer out the window. "Someone's here. Delivery, it looks like."

Dean looked out the window and could barely see someone approaching through the screen of trees from entrance of the yard, which was a good ways away. The kid had to have incredible eyesight to even take a guess that it was a delivery person. "Hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?" The man had set up camp in his office that morning. Helping with research on some nasty son-of-a-bitch or other, for some other hunter. Not everyone came with a father who could put a case together from a breath on the wind and a ten year old rumor, or a brother that had a completely valid account on the LexisNexis and a deep unnatural love of research.

"You expecting a package?"

"Brown uniform with gold is UPS, right?" Alec asked, and Sam nodded.

"No, I'm not." They all heard a book slam closed and a pencil hit the wall in a show of frustration. He made his way out into the kitchen and then huffed at Alec sucking down the last of his milk. "You know, that bottle was full yesterday."

"Not like you can't get another, dude." Alec was entirely unapologetic as he tossed the empty half gallon into the trash. Dean may have been imagining it but he swore he saw Alec's hand shake. They all waited in nervous anticipation as the UPS guy stepped up onto the porch and knocked. No hunter liked getting unexpected packages. Rumsfeld hadn't set up a racket though, so the guy was at least human. That was good to know.

Bobby opened the door and signed for the box, and the man was on his way. The box was only about the size of a average box of tissues. "Who's it from?" Sam had pushed away from the counter to peer over Bobby's shoulder, not difficult with him being nearly eight inches taller than the older man.

"Doesn't say. That's weird." He flipped the box, looking for an identifying mark before he opened it. When he found it, it was on the bottom. A stamp in red of what looked to be a chimera, a Manticore to be precise. "Oh." Bobby's eyes rolled and his tone matched his expression. "Malcolm Sandeman."

He had clearly planned to say something else, but they were all startled by the clatter of a glass falling into the sink, where Alec had just lost it from nerveless fingers. "What did you say?" the nervous X5 demanded.

Bobby shifted the box to show Alec the stamp. "He likes to think he's mysterious and send shit with only a stamp like this. You okay?" The kid was definitely pale now, as his right hand went up to cover his barcode.

"That's home. That's Manticore's emblem. Sandeman is the geneticist that built me." He only blinked when Dean stood, circled the table and pushed Alec into a chair. The dumb cow look the kid was sporting made him nervous. "I saw it once on my file, in Med Lab. One of the techs was bitching that if the head geneticist was going to stick his nose in, the least he could do was not build some . . ." He reached out with his good arm and took the box from Bobby. "How did they find us so fast?"

"This guy a hunter, Bobby?" Dean asked, as he settled a heavy hand on Alec's neck, covering his bar code. He was relieved when the kid's shaking subsided.

"Yeah. Has been for a long time. Mostly research though, like me. Most of the time when he finds a case, he sends it out to the Road House or the like. He hardly ever goes out into the field." Everyone watched anxiously as Sam took a knife out, gently took the box from Alec's loose grip, and sliced through the tape.

"Huh," was all Sam said.

"Huh?" Dean's eyebrows climbed incredulously. "That's all you got?"

"Yeah." Sam reached in and pulled something out. A second later Dean's pendant was dangling from its cord, which was wrapped around Sam's long fingers.

"Huh." Dean just blinked at it.

"Yeah." He extended his arm out to his brother. Dean caught the charm in his palm and curled his fingers around it. Bobby watched with a hooded expression and Sam with an expectant one as Dean closed his eyes for a second.

"Feels okay," Dean said, after opening his eyes. He shrugged and put it on with a sigh, feeling like a warm blanket had just settled on him. Sam nodded once and started pulling other things out. All Dean's to start. His ring and then his bracelets, knots untied. Bobby just shook his head a little as Sam tied them back onto his brother's wrist. The, his own bracelets, also carefully unknotted. Sam held out his arm for Dean to tie them back on, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders, and then Dean smacked him on the shoulder for good measure. "That's it, I guess."

"Nope." Sam pulled out a six-inch black-handled jackknife. "Guess this must be yours." He held it out to Alec, who took it slowly.

"The Colonel gave it to me when I was fifteen. Right before my first mission." He closed his hand around it tightly.

"Hang on. I think there's something else . . . gotcha!" Sam's fingers finally snagged the last item, which had been hiding in a corner. When he held his hand up, a gold, heart-shaped locket swung from a gold chain. It was clearly a woman's necklace. "Er . . ."

Alec held a hand out for it, palm up. This time there was no mistaking the tremor, even though it was small. "It's mine." His voice was quiet, and Dean knew it would be a while before they knew the story that was behind it. Sam set the necklace in Alec's hand and let the chain pool around the locket.

XXXXX

Lydecker was willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, escape artistry was something that could be found in a person's genetic code. He looked up from X5-494's file. Dean and Samuel Winchester were stacked up to the side. He was on his third cup of coffee and it was only 0900. Standing in relaxed attention in front of him was X5-392. He didn't quite know how the boy managed it. This X5, Biggs, had one of those unruffleable personalities. The sort of personality that was perfect for guard work and pissing off the volatile, because you just couldn't get a reaction out of him. Lydecker made a mental note to contact the White House. He could be slipped seamlessly into the Secret Service. They had a standing request in for personnel to utilize for high risk and high profile engagements, especially on foreign soil, where resources were limited. It had been a difficult request to fill until recently, as the X5's were the first series that could be used in public view, and they were only now old enough that they would not raise suspicion.

None of that was the matter at hand. That was trying to find one of his prized X5s and R&D's walking genetic advancement, namely Sam Winchester. Bravo Unit had been in an absolute uproar when they had discovered their commander missing. X5-112, called CeCe, and Biggs had had everything back to a semblance of order within an hour, and then he had been subjected to the unique joy of dealing with an angry 112. CeCe would snarl at just about anyone if she was pushed enough, and the Colonel was no exception.

Lydecker looked Biggs squarely in the eyes. "Would you care to tell me why X5-494 felt it necessary to jump ship and leave his unit?"

"With all due respect, sir, why don't you tell me?"

"Excuse me?" Deck asked, honestly startled. Biggs was not a unit who usually mouthed off.

"With all due respect, sir, why don't you tell me?" Biggs merely repeated, as though the Colonel may not have heard him the first time.

"Yes, soldier, I heard you. I may not have your enhanced hearing, but I am far from deaf."

"I would never imply such a thing, sir."

No, Lydecker mused, the X5 would merely look over his right shoulder and look annoyingly serene and blank. "Why would you think I would have an answer when you wouldn't?"

"Well, sir, I don't know what happens in Psy-Ops, but I can only assume you do."

"Reindoctrination is just that. It would not breed a desire to leave."

"Permission to be frank, sir? And I would like to request that I be subject to no repercussions for my observations, since you did, in fact, ask for the information, sir." Biggs' tone was careful and neutral. Lydecker that this might be interesting.

"Permission granted on all counts."

"It's hard to know what 494 is thinking when he's returned to us. I don't think what happens to him does anything but scramble him up for a little while. It never really changes anything, sir. It only upsets him. If you haven't noticed that already, sir, then you're inobservant, which doesn't seem like you at all. If anything, I would say you know us pretty well, sir. So putting him in Psy-Ops had to have a different purpose than trying to realign his thinking. It didn't work when he was ten, it didn't work after the Berrisford mess, and I'm still fucking pissed off." Here, for just a moment, Biggs shifted from well-behaved soldier to angry predator. "About what happened to him over 493 going pear-shaped. You let them almost break him. I've yet to figure out how making someone miserable is going to keep them from going off the map. But he still is who he is. No amount of Psy-Ops is going to change that. So, sir, you tell me. Why did he bolt?"

"Why have you never brought up your objections to 494's treatment before?" Lydecker would admit he was curious. This was possibly the most personal and informative exchange he had ever had with Biggs.

"Because he would have taken my head clean off my shoulder for drawing attention to myself, sir," the X5 stated with amused calm.

"Then why do it now?"

"No danger." He shrugged. "I haven't done anything wrong and you need me to hold the unit together without our Lucky Charm here to do it. I'm safe unless I do something really stupid like disobey or undermine you. Which I wouldn't do." He didn't flinch or blink when the Colonel met his eyes. Lydecker found nothing but truth there. The staring contest continued for a solid three minutes before Biggs looked down and away. The Colonel had learned long ago that he could not be the first to look away. It was more than a childish game to his X5s. It was a feline dominance instinct. To look away was to submit.

XXXXX

John resisted the urge to start making phone calls until he was in the privacy of his motel room. He stared blankly out the window into the growing evening as he listened to the phone on the other end of the call ring.

"Singer." Bobby sounded like he really wanted to hang up. John didn't take it personal. Bobby didn't even know who was calling him yet.

"Bobby, I got a couple of messages from my boys saying there was trouble."

"Day late and a dollar short, Winchester." Now it was personal. "I've got them here and am getting them sorted out. It's handled." Bobby hung up. John sat there for a long moment just staring at his phone. It was becoming a habit.

XXXXX

By the time night fell, Sam was actually feeling a lot better. He wouldn't say he was feeling good, but by comparison, he figured not having to ask in all seriousness if his brain was leaking out his ears and keeping all of his food down was kind of like feeling like a million dollars. The guest room, which was more Sam and Dean's than anyone else's, was on the second floor of Bobby's house. He had actually had enough energy to make his way upstairs before crashing for the night around eight PM.

Sam didn't think much of it when he heard a couple of dull thumps from behind the closed bathroom door on his way to the kitchen the next morning. He figured that Alec had just knocked over a shampoo bottle or something. Alec apparently liked to take his showers in the morning instead of at night, like he and Dean did. Sam figured this would wear off after his second late night stint as a gravedigger.

When he got to the kitchen, Dean was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, a mug of coffee in hand. "Anything interesting?" Sam asked, as he poured himself a mug of coffee and diluted it heavily with milk. Bobby had apparently bought more at some point. He took a sip before putting it down on the counter next to the stove, and then pulled a bag of bread out of the fridge. Bobby had bought more of that, too. Dean gave him a look which clearly stated that he should sit his skinny ass down and not be cooking, but Sam was trying desperately to restore a little normalcy to his life.

"You want any toast?" Dean could cook; he just never did anymore. Sam figured that the novelty had worn off when Dean had spent his childhood cooking for Sam. Sam tried to return the favor when he could.

"Sure, and nothing interesting really, though it'd have to be damned mean to make me go after it with Alec not being able to tell his ass from his elbow when it comes to things that go bump in the night." He sipped his coffee and set the paper down, looking up at Sam again.

"We won't be grounded for too long," Sam said with a shrug as he put the bread in the toaster. The fact that he really should be getting back to his classes was a concept he wasn't even going to allow himself to think about for a little while. Now that he was in Dean's company, he wasn't ready to give it up again so soon. Not to even mention the government good squad that was likely on his tail. And then there was Alec. "He's smart and he's already got all the physical training."

"Most of the physical training. I'm betting he doesn't know how to handle a sword for shit." Dean was privately thinking that Alec's lack of knowledge wasn't the only thing keeping them grounded. Dean was sure Sammy hadn't recovered from whatever happened to him in that damned torture chamber, Psy-Ops. Hell, more like. Alec hadn't said much, but Dean didn't think he would turn on his superiors lightly. And they had fucked Sam up badly. Full on psychic visions? Yeah, that was not going into Dean's very short book of happy occurrences. Especially since Sam absolutely refused to talk about it when Dean had brought it up in the safety of the dark bedroom last night. Sam was willing to talk about anything if he was given enough time, but Dean didn't think it was going to be coming up in conversation any time soon.

Even if Sam were healthy and not a walking skeleton, Alec still had a bullet wound and a broken collarbone. Not the sort of thing he wanted to rush. His eyes jumped to the ceiling, wondering where Alec was a little nervously. He didn't know the kid that well, but yesterday he had been up bright and early. Early enough to please even their father, if he had been around. But today it was pushing ten already.

Sam rooted around in the fridge for butter and marmalade. "_You_ can't handle a sword for shit, Dean," Sam said, amused. "You were never very good with anything bigger than a machete."

"There's not much call for needing a sword." Dean shook off his unease and refocused on Sammy, saying it in indignant self defense, like he was just lacking the opportunity to practice. Sam had always been better with blades, though. He had lost enough practice fights that he wasn't stupid or quite ballsy enough to actually imply that he was better than Sam in that one field. Dean took to firearms like a duck to water, and Sam was almost as good, because he learned quickly and well. Dean could almost always beat him at any sort of hand-to-hand, but give Sammy something sharp and pointy, and even as a child he was as dangerous as a full grown man.

"Then why are you worried about him learning how to use one? Overprotective much?" Sam scooped the toast out of the toaster and set it down on two plates. "I'll teach him. If you try, someone will lose a limb, and it'll be someone we like."

"If you try right now, the weight of the sword will just tip you over." Dean raised an eyebrow at his baby brother. "And while that might be hilarious to watch in slow mo, I'd have to pick you up afterwards. Let's face it, I'm lazy. You looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Sammy?"

"It's Sam." After another moment he set a plate down in front of Dean, then used his free hand to grab his coffee and sat down at the table. "Bobby off on a job or is he working on a car?"

"Car. He said to tell you that he had a couple of new books since the last time I was here. He left them out 'cause he thought you might want to read them. Wards and shit like that."

"Cool. Maybe I'll find some to use on the car."

"You just make sure you don't mess up her leather or paint."

"Yeah, yeah. I know you love that car more than me." He was always careful with her. She was the only home he had ever really known.

"Damned right I do." Dean crunched down on his toast. "Alec up yet?" Worry was making itself known again. "He was already up for a few hours this time yesterday."

"He was banging around in the bathroom when I came down," Sam said, with a shrug.

Dean grinned. "How many graves do you think it'll take for him to start saving the showers for the end of the day?"

"Two, maybe three if he's being stubborn." They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. "Do you think Dad'll be okay with us, you know . . . keeping him?"

Dean snorted. "You make him sound like a puppy."

"Yeah, well, Dad never let me have one of those either."

"Sam . . ."

"Fine, dude, whatever." He didn't want to argue. "Alec," he said, redirecting the conversation.

"As far as I'm concerned, it's a done deal. He's a Winchester, they copied him from me, and that makes him Mom and Dad's kid. No matter what else they added, they couldn't take that away." Dean was still working on how Alec worked into their somewhat odd family dynamic, but he was sure that they would figure it out. Keeping Sam and his father from killing each other had to be harder.

"Good." Sam nodded. He hadn't wanted to leave Alec alone in the world, and Alec hadn't really showed any inclination to leave them and strike out on his own. "Think he's trying to turn himself into a prune up there?"

"Maybe he knows you're going to start swinging a sword at him," Dean said, and tried to push his concern away again. Sometimes he knew Sam was right and he just got overprotective.

Sam just shook his head. He listened for the shower, but he didn't hear it, so he figured that Alec would be down in a few minutes, and continued eating. No reason to be worried. When he was done, he got up and washed his and Dean's empty plates. Then he sat back down with another mug of coffee and stole half of the newspaper. Dean didn't even bother to argue. Sam had been doing that to him and their father since he was eight.

Suddenly Sam put the paper down, after Dean looked up nervously at the ceiling for the fifth time. "I'm going to check on him." He quickly pushed back from the table and marched back up the stairs. Dean watched him leave.

Sam could see the bathroom door was still closed as soon as he hit the top of the stairs, and he promptly stepped over to it and knocked sharply. "Alec?" There was no answer, but he heard another dull thump. "Alec, are you okay?"

After a long pause he finally got a reply. "Go away."

"Dude, what's wrong?" He knew Alec well enough to know when he didn't sound right. That and whatever it was that had made him nervous enough to come up to check on him. Dean had most likely been right with that first nervous twitch of his. An image flashed through his mind too quickly for him to comprehend, along with a quick jolt of pain. He didn't want to think about the implications of that, nor did he have time. "If you don't come out in the next thirty seconds, I'm coming in."

"Naked."

"You don't have anything I haven't seen before." When he got no answer, he tried the doorknob and found it locked. In about two seconds flat he had a Bic pen out of one of his bags and used his teeth to yank the pen apart. He used the thin ink tube to pop the lock and open the door.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what he saw. For starters, Alec wasn't naked. He was in his flannel sleep pants and the loose T-shirt he seemed to favor as sleep wear. Secondly, he was sitting wedged into the corner where the bathtub met the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, arms around his legs, forehead resting on his knees. Sam could hear him breathing heavily, nearly panting. "Alec, what . . ." and before Sam could finish his question, he saw Alec begin to shake and convulse. His hands gripped his knees so hard that they went white-knuckled, and then one elbow jerked harder and cracked into the wall with bruising force, the dull thump was louder now. "Oh God, Alec."

XXXXX


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's note of DOOM. I seriously mean it this time._

_This and the next few chapters are a finely crafted blend of heavy research, medical fact, and utter bullshit. I'm good at it, I swear. I used to write papers like this all the time for college. I even got A's on them. _

_Medical facts. Phenobarbital really is first line treatment for cats. Though epilepsy is very rare in cats. Valium is a valid anti-convulsant. _

_A person really can have continuous seizures. It is, obviously, bad news. The kind of seizures Alec is having are real, (Even in DA they were real. I was a little stunned to find that out.) though the severity is exaggerated. And they are rare. But hey, genetically engineered cat people. What are you going to do?_

_Medical screw ups/myths. Never try to restrain someone having a seizure. Someone will get hurt. There are circumstances in the fic. But still. If there is a hand book, this is not in it. Also, grand mal is an outdated term, but it's one people know, so I used it anyway._

_Stay tuned for more medical facts in future author's notes written by a chick that is not a medical professional. But I work for one. Counts for something, right?_

_Also, hey, I think this is some sort of record for shortest time between chapters. Go me!_

Chapter 12

It only took Sam two steps to cross the bathroom floor and drop to his knees next to Alec. He managed to get an arm around Alec's shoulders before another spasm caused him to hit his head against the wall. He could feel the heavy bandages padding Alec's wounded shoulder pressing against his arm. Seizures, muscle damage, and broken bones were a bad combination. Seizures were pretty much guaranteed to make anything bad.

Alec looked over at Sam unsteadily. "Thanks," he said, and that was all he had time to say before his entire body jerked again, and he nearly kicked Sam, who was still more or less in front of him.

"DEAN!" Sam had an impressive bellow when he put his mind to it. He pulled Alec away from the wall and then sat behind him to keep him upright and from hitting anything else hard. Clearly his own bony chest didn't count.

Dean bolted up from his chair in the kitchen so fast that he knocked it over, and he was already at the stairs before it hit the floor. He had his gun drawn when he reached the top. "Sammy?" He edged his way along the wall, not sure what he was facing, but it had to be mean if it had gotten past Bobby's defenses.

"In the bathroom. Grab a pillow."

Dean thought he must have heard Sam wrong. He was much more used to hearing things like 'grab the salt', or 'grab the shotgun.' Or the one notable occasion when things had gone really off the rails and their father had told them 'grab your ankles and kiss your ass goodbye.' "Grab a pillow' threw him, and as he cleared the bathroom door, he just blinked for a moment as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Sam and Alec were both sitting on the floor. Sam had Alec pulled up against him, and his arms were wrapped around Alec, clearly trying to restrain him. Sam winced as one of Alec's elbows caught him hard, and he almost lost his grip. Alec was a lot stronger than the average person.

"Dean!" His attention leaped back to Sam's face when he heard his name. "Go get some pillows before he gives himself a concussion, breaks my ribs, or fucks up his shoulder." Never let it be said that Sammy didn't have a clear head in a crisis.

Dean nodded once and then went to get what Sam had asked for, replacing the gun in the back of his jeans. He came back with all three pillows from their room. He laid one down in the middle of the floor and then reached out to help Sam lay Alec down on his side, head safely on the pillow, right shoulder to the floor. He laid the other two against the wall in case they needed them. After another minute or so, Alec relaxed.

"When did this start?" Dean asked Sam, but it was Alec that answered.

"Hour ago." Alec was surprised he had the energy to talk. Right now he felt like utter crap, but he was still thinking straight. Amazingly. Sam and Dean seemed surprised he was coherent at all.

"Shit," Sam said, with heartfelt vehemence. "Has this ever happened before?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have medication?" Dean was hoped the answer was yes so he could solve this by cramming it down the kid's throat and then smacking him for not taking it.

"Ran out." Alec reasoned that this explanation would piss them off less than admitting that they had booked it out of Manticore without any at all.

"And you didn't tell us you have fucking epilepsy?" Dean barked. "Christ, I'm calling an ambulance." He started to stand when Alec's hand caught hold of his wrist. Even having seizures, Alec was freakishly fast.

"No. Colonel Lydecker'll find me. Find you an' Sam."

"Kiddo, you've been having seizures for over an hour and you have no medication. You need a doctor." Dean had a fair amount of medical training. He could set simple breaks, stitch wounds, sometimes even remove bullets: Alec was living proof. He knew what to do with minor infections and fever and pain, but seizures were beyond him and Sam, and he was willing to bet cash money they were beyond Bobby, too.

"No. Please." Alec's hand tightened painfully around Dean's wrist, and the X5 shuddered violently. "Renfro'll take me apart. Parts." He managed to look up at Dean, fear clear in his eyes. Exhaustion was making it impossible to hide his emotions like he normally would.

Dean pried his wrist free before Alec accidentally broke it, then helped Sam try to hold him steady as the next seizure really took hold. All three of them knew that the best they could hope for was that Alec didn't hurt himself, because Dean had tangled with the kid's friends. They couldn't hold him. "Call Bobby," Sam told him. "I know a doctor that might be able to help, but he's in Palo Alto. Bobby might have an idea in the meantime."

"You call Bobby," Dean replied, as he did his damnedest to pin Alec's arms and try to protect the broken bone that had to be taking an even worse beating than the rest of his body. "You aren't strong enough right now to hold him for more than a second." After a moment, Sam nodded. Now was not the time to be arguing with Dean over the state of his health.

Alec looked like he wanted to protest, but it was beyond him. "I'll be back in a sec." Sam stood and went back into their room, grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand, and scrolled to Bobby's number at the garage as he went back to Dean and Alec. The X5 was a mess. He looked afraid, hurt, and exhausted and those were just not expressions that Sam was used to seeing on Dean's face. No matter who was wearing that face. Even though he had two years on Sam, right now the newest Winchester looked younger than him.

After a long pause, Sam replied to whatever Bobby's opening comment had been with, "I'd rather deal with a demon, Bobby, any day." Sam paused to listen to the older man speak. Then: "Alec's having seizures and has been for over an hour, he says." There was another pause while Sam held the phone away from his ear for a few seconds with a wince. It didn't take long for Bobby to wind down. "No, we just found out. We can't call 911." Another pause. "Because he asked us not to. Bobby, he's not entirely human, remember?" A longer pause. "Thanks, Bobby." Sam hung up. "He's on his way. He'll be here in six minutes." He slipped the phone into his back pocket as he knelt down in front of Alec.

Dean had settled right behind Alec's shoulders, which he quickly grabbed as Alec jerked forward, towards the wall. "Whoa, let's keep your head away from the wall, shall we?" Sam saw the wince as pressure was applied to the bullet wound, and Dean's answering wince of sympathy.

A couple of minutes later, the seizure seemed to pass, or at least allowed Alec to relax a little. "Some genetic enhancement, huh?" he quipped, as he tried to catch his breath. He started to roll so he was laying more on his back than his side. Sam handed Dean one of the spare pillows to put under Alec's shoulder. Alec looked at both of them looking down at him in concern. With Sam the expression didn't seem that foreign; while he knew already that Sam could act like an Oscar winner, he wasn't the sort hide his emotions. Dean was a different story, though, and while he had seen this look directed at Sam right after they escaped, he had never thought he would see it turned on him. He hadn't actually thought they would adopt him into the family the way Dean had said they would. "You're hovering like grannies." His voice sounded weak to his own ears. He noticed that neither had pulled their hands away, even though he wasn't shaking at the moment. He felt absurdly grateful.

"Bobby'll be pissed if you put a hole in his wall." Dean could always be trusted for a smart ass comment. He was starting to think he had come by his attitude problem honestly.

Alec closed his eyes as another tremor started. "Tired, hurts." He let Sam roll him onto his side again, in as close to recovery position as Sam could get him while he was convulsing the way he was. Sam and Dean shared a worried look over Alec's shaking form. "Do you know what the medication was?" Sam asked, hoping, praying that this was as simple as swiping a prescription pad and hustling cards or pool for the money to get the meds. "Don't know." Alec sounded miserable. "Just took them. Orders." Sam assumed that this meant that Alec just took them as he was told to. He didn't like that Alec would blindly take orders. He hated it when Dean did it, too.

Just then they heard the back door bang open hard. "Bobby? That you, man?" Dean called out, one hand going to his gun, feeling that paranoia was justified with one of them down and defenseless and the other weak as a kitten even if the bitch wouldn't admit it. He honestly wasn't sure which brother he would match with which description, and that was just sad."Yeah, I'll be up in a sec." Bobby sounded breathless, obviously having rushed back from the garage. A moment later, they heard Bobby climb the stairs, and Dean took his hand away from his gun when the older man cam into view toting a large tool box. Sam assumed that the tool box was Bobby's med. kit. A lot of hunters used them for that purpose, including Sam and Dean. In fact, they had picked up the trick from Bobby. Tool boxes made sure things stayed well organized and easy to find. Saving time could save a life. Sam shifted to make room for Bobby to crouch down next to him. It was getting damned crowded in the small bathroom with four full grown men, three of whom topped six feet. "Has he lost consciousness or is he having any trouble breathing?" Bobby asked as he unlatched the lid to the kit.

"No," Alec ground out before Sam could reply. Bobby watched as the brothers had trouble keeping Alec effectively immobile. He was going to be a hurting puppy when this was over.

"I know that sometimes sedating someone can stop a seizure. Do you want me to try that? I have the stuff for that." Bobby watched the kid jerk and shudder, and the worried but hopeful looks on Dean and Sam's faces. He also saw a flash of fear cross Alec's eyes, and he didn't think it was the seizure putting it there. Dean worried at his bottom lip a little.

"Yeah," Alec finally replied after a long moment. "Out. Sleep," he added, just to make sure they understood. The concept of being sedated scared the ever-living fuck out of him, but the thought of having a full grand mal seizure scared him just a little bit more. He knew that was what would happen if he tried to ride this out. Bobby looked up to get an agreement from either of the Winchesters, wanting to be sure that Alec was mentally competent enough to make a choice like that. Sam nodded agreement.

"You allergic to anything, kid?" Bobby pulled out a vial of medication and a syringe, which he uncapped with his teeth.

"Yes, sir." The tension started to drain out of him again for a moment or two, allowing him to get a look at the bottle Bobby was holding. "But not that." He watched Bobby draw up the medication with remarkably clear eyes. Bobby had seen that look on dogs that were waiting to be hit. They would stand still for it, but that didn't mean that it didn't frighten them.

"I have to warn ya that this might not work. Or even if it does, you might start having seizures again when you wake up. You understand?" He tore open an alcohol wipe, but waited for Alec to reply before moving any closer.

"Yes, sir." Seeing the syringe made him remember his times is Psy-Ops and Med Lab. As his nerves started to key up with instinctual fear, he fell back to his old habit of addressing people in positions of authority.

Bobby watched the kid tense up at the sight of the needle, so he made sure to keep his movements slow, not wanting to startle him. He could already see the hand shaped bruise starting to show on Dean's wrist. This was not a kid he wanted to mess with. "I'm not going to hurt you any." His voice dropped to the gentler tone he had used with the boys when John used to leave them with him when they were younger. He reached out to swab of a small patch of skin on Alec's arm and paused as he felt the heat coming off of him. "Shit, you're burning up."

"He's starting to shake again, so you might want to get that into him," Dean said. Bobby looked over and saw that Dean was moving a hand through Alec's hair, obviously trying to calm him. The motion was slow and steady, with his fingers crooked like he was petting a cat.

Bobby nodded. "This may burn a little going in, but it should help you out in just a few minutes." With that, Bobby stuck him with the needle, trusting Sam to keep the kid from decking him, though in all honesty Sam was not in the best of health either. When he was done, he recapped the syringe and tossed it into the tub, out of their way, and rubbed at Alec's arm to get the medication moving. Alec flinched when he made contact, and Bobby wasn't sure if it was the seizure or an aversion to touch. Given the way the kid had tracked the needle like a frightened animal, Bobby was going to guess option number two. "I just gave you a good sized dose of benzodiazapine, Valium; it'll take a few minutes to take effect." Bobby moved back, and he could already see Alec's seizure start to worsen. "When it does, we're going to move you somewhere more comfortable than the bathroom floor. It's kinda crowded in here." He closed up the med kit and sat back to wait. "If he's got a fever, we should try to do something about it."

"Cat," Alec tried to explain, but it was hard with his jaw clenching and his air limited.Sam was the one who caught on first. "Cats have a higher normal body temperature than humans. Is that it?" He looked down at Alec, who nodded a little.

Bobby sighed. "You Winchesters know how to get yourselves into some damned interesting fixes." He felt like a broken record, but it was either repeat himself in a sort of resigned and amused despair for all the trouble they caused him, or throw them out on their asses. He was getting too old for option B. He had to save it all for their father. "Don't suppose he gave you any sort of medical history?"

"Just that this has happened before and that he ran out of medication."

"Yeah, clearly. I'm going to go see if I can find a pill bottle. Call if he gets any worse. The meds should kick in after another five minutes or so." With that, Bobby stood and headed off.

"You said you knew a doctor, Sam?" Dean looked up at his youngest brother, then back down as he felt Alec move deliberately to look up at him. "You don't get to argue, Alec. You heard Bobby. This is a temporary solution at best."

"He's a resident at the Stanford Hospital. He saved my ass from the cops once. Recognized my name. His mom's a hunter. He'll keep things quiet."

"You sure, Sammy? Just because his mom's a hunter doesn't mean you can trust him with this. An X5 might be a little much on the weird side." He knew Alec was still awake and listening, but figured the kid had a right to hear what they were talking about.

Sam shook his head, even as he tightened his grip on Alec. "She's also a werewolf." He caught Dean's startled look. "Yeah, that caught me off guard too. He understands weird, even by hunter standards and he understands family even if it isn't entirely human."

Alec was finally starting to relax, and he could tell it wasn't just the slight reprieve between convulsions, but an actual break in them. His body was finally allowing him to drift towards sleep. "Family?" He was also starting to feel sappy, which sure as hell wasn't normal. Must be the damned drugs.

"Yeah. That's what we said, Little Toaster," was Dean's short reply. "Now go to sleep. You're starting to act all girly like Sam."

"Hey!" Sam protested. "That was uncalled for."

"Just calling it like I see it, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever."

Alec drifted off, listening to them bicker back and forth. He wasn't exactly asleep, but he certainly wasn't awake. He wondered in a distant way if he wanted to be part of this family. He might have to listen to them bicker all the time then. He could feel himself shudder again, but it was much less violent now. He still ached like he had just gotten the worst beating of his life, and his shoulder felt like someone had jammed a hot poker into it, but strangely that didn't worry him much either. He couldn't really recall anyone ever being this nice to him, or comforting him when he was injured before. His sibs were never allowed in the med lab to visit him. That was sort of sick when he really thought about it.

He heard Bobby come back and talk to Sam and Dean, but he was having trouble caring about what they were talking about. Then someone was scooping him up off the floor, which was new and interesting. It would have been completely unacceptable had he been awake enough to protest.

"He weighs a damned ton."

"You want some help there, Dean?"

"No, just get out of the way before I drop him. Or I'll make you carry him out to the car later."

Sam did not sound pleased with this, but then Alec was deposited on a mattress with a slight bounce and pillows were put back under his head and shoulder. After that, his body gave in to the exhaustion.

XXXXX

Sam, Dean, and Bobby sat for a quiet moment or two, watching Alec as the heavy shudders turned to shivers and then stopped altogether.

It was Bobby who finally broke the silence. "I knew that perfect soldier crap was to good to be true."

"Hey, he didn't tell us he was freakin' epileptic. I thought we were getting something top of the line," was the only defense that Dean could think of. He had to admit, if only to himself, that it was a pretty sad one.

"He says this like he would have left him behind if he'd known," Sam replied with amusement. "Did you find anything in his bag? A pill bottle or something?" he asked Bobby hopefully.

"Zip. Nothing but what your brother's bought for him in the past few days." Bobby shook his head. "Which means he lied to you, unless he has a pill bottle on him. He didn't run out."

"He didn't have anything with him." Dean finished Bobby's thought.

"Yeah."

"Why the hell didn't he bring something with him if he knew he needed it?" Sam asked, clearly bewildered.

"Because I think he was running scared." Dean didn't bother to elaborate. "How long will what you shot him up with last?"

"It's hard to say, but the most we'll get is two hours. If he was taking steady medication for these seizures, then he's going to need a doctor. Maybe a hospital. We all know that for shit like this, you should call in the professionals. Especially since he doesn't know what he was taking. I know seizure medication is tricky stuff sometimes."

"Sam, you had better call that doc you know," Dean said. "And we had better all hope we can trust him." Bobby gave them a questioning look, but Sam was already pulling his phone from his pocket. He flipped it open and scrolled until he found the right number, then hit send. It only took a couple of rings for Collin to pick up.

"Hey, dude, it's Sam Winchester . . . yeah, I know I've been gone longer than I said I'd be. It's a long fucking story, man. I'll tell you later." Sam paused, listening, smiling a little at whatever his friend was saying. "I'm okay," Sam said, and ignored Dean's snort of disagreement, "but I need a world class favor . . . . more than buying the beer, man, like buying steak dinners for you mom's entire pack big." Another pause, but with no smiling this time. "Yeah, I'm dead serious."

Sam began to pace in the small confines of the room. "This guy, Alec, he's my brother. He's having seizures . . . pretty bad, on and off for at least an hour, mostly on. He takes medication, but he doesn't know what it is and we can't get any more. He ran out a couple of days ago . . . he's stopped now. Bobby doped him up with some Valium . . . he was thinking clearly the entire time, I think . . . he said he was tired, and hurt, but he made a few smart ass comments, so I'm pretty sure he was up to speed there . . . yeah, we know we need to bring him to a hospital, that's why I called you. This is where things get really weird. He's, ah . . . hell, he's a genetically engineered super soldier." Sam paused in his pacing. "Does it sound like I'm joking?" Sam's voice was tight and low. "Okay, sorry, I'm just tense, he's a mess right now, and it's kinda hard to watch. But everything about him needs to be kept quiet." He listened for a long moment. "We can be there by this time tomorrow." There was a long pause this time, then: "I can't even begin to thank you." There was a long pause, as Sam listened. "See you tomorrow, man." Then he ended the call.

"Who the hell are you spilling all of this to, kid?" Bobby immediately demanded.

"Collin's a resident at the Stanford Hospital. There was this thing with a mugging and a stabbing and me carrying concealed . . . anyway, we got to be friends. His mom's a hunter."

"Yeah, but, dude, you said she was a werewolf," Dean interjected.

"Can't both be true?"

"No!" Bobby and Dean answered together.

"Tough, because she is." Sam started packing up their few belongings. "She was attacked, and her husband, Collin's father, was killed. She was turned and hunted down the monster that killed her husband and put an end to it. Werewolves don't have to be monsters. Most aren't. Most of the time we don't even know they're around."

"And let me just say that that is so uncool!" Dean interrupted.

"Yeah, whatever, dude. We can talk about this shit later. Right now we have a twenty-four hour drive to make."

Dean watched Sam for a moment. "You really think we can trust him, Sam?" It was an honest question, one he wanted Sam to stop and put real thought into. Sam knew that tone. When he was a kid, he had called it Dean's 'important stuff' voice. It often came after arguments with their father. "Because we aren't just talking about some medication or a run-in with some cops, which you'll have to tell me about by the way, but our lives. These Manticore freaks are still after you and Alec, I'm sure. And it'll be damned hard for us to hide on a college campus. You have friends there, friends you could lose because they'll be curious. I know you weren't big on sharing."

Bobby watched as Sam stilled, calmed. John would have had to work a miracle to get the same effect. Bobby never doubted that John loved his boys, but it was times like this that a person could see who had done the emotional raising of Sam Winchester.

"I trust him," Sam finally said. "And we can try to dodge my friends, the people that know me. If it doesn't work, I'll just have to deal with the consequences. Family comes before everything else. First rule of being a Winchester. Dad turned his back on me. Not the other way around. And don't tell me I'm wrong, because I don't want to hear it right now." Sam's voice was hard as he spoke of their father. But then he sighed, because that wasn't the issue right now. "Strategically, it has some high points. One, I bet they're hoping we'll panic and take him to an ER or a clinic, because they had to know that this would happen. It was like putting a leash on us. Collin will keep this below the radar. Two, we can't hide like we can here, but we can surround ourselves with people. It's a college campus; there's really no such thing as dead of the night. No sneak attacks, and even if they could get that close, I'm sure we can create enough of a ruckus to draw a lot of unwanted witnesses. Three, it's such a stupid thing to do that no military mind worth anything would come up with it."

"Can't argue with that one, little brother."

"The closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm. Now pack."

"You are such a geek brain."

"You recognized the quote." He stared at Dean until he got up and started to toss things into his bag. Then turned to Bobby. "Could we take that Valium with us? Why do you even have it?"

"I hate hysterical survivors?" Bobby suggested. Which was true. He specialized in demons and possessions; sometimes the kindest thing you could do for survivors was drug them into resting for a day or so.

"Uh huh. Collin said we may have to use it again."

"He did? What else did he say?" Dean asked as he finished up.

"Just that we should give him more if any of the seizures last more than five minutes, if he had trouble breathing, or if they start being continuous like they were this morning. Other than that, to just let them happen. It's safer than messing with drugs."

"Sounds kinda heartless." Dean paused after picking up Alec's boots, looked over at Alec's bare feet, and then fished a pair of his socks out of his bag. He made a face and then crouched by Alec's feet, tugging socks and then his boots onto them. "Y'know, I thought I was done with this when you learned how to dress yourself, Sammy," he grumbled, motions practiced.

"You like playing big brother; don't think you're fooling anyone, Dean." Bobby stood. "C'mon, Sam we can get the medication, and I've got a couple of books to send with you."

"Guys," Dean said, looking over his shoulder at Bobby and Sam. "In case you don't remember, we don't have a car." He was holding one of Alec's military issue boots. Exactly the same as the ones he was now wearing himself except more worn, better broken in. "She's in the back of a U-haul with holes in her. And I know she still runs, but she's got nothing left to hide us with."

Bobby took his hat off and scratched his forehead for a second, then slapped the hat back on. "I got something for you to use. It's isn't a hunter's set of wheels, but it'll get you where you need to go." He watched Sam and Dean look at each other like they had just been asked to leave a family member behind. He guessed that, in a way, they had. John had once let it slip that the car had been Mary's, which would explain the love John had treated it with, even in the beginning. The Impala was the only home Sam had ever really known. "I'll take care of her. Get the windows replaced and the bullet hole taken care of. Then I'll get her shipped out to you. That sound okay?"

After a moment, Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll be okay."

"Let's go get you those books, Sam."

"Bobby, you don't have . . ."

"Shut up, kid. It's a loan, so you had best bring them back."

"Sure," Sam said with a grin. Hunters always seemed to have emotional communication problems. He was used to it.

As they left, Dean settled his weight back on his heels and left his elbows on his knees. "Dad's gonna kill me," he muttered to his unconscious new brother. "And I don't know whether it's going to be for adopting you into our fucked up little family, since, let's face it, I've known you for like maybe a week. Or for letting Sammy out of hiding, for getting the Impala shot up or . . . shit, he's gonna rip me a new one." He remained there, quiet for a few moments, and then Sam came back in with the vial of medication and a couple of well-worn leather-bound books which he tucked into his laptop bag. The vial went into his pants pocket.

"You ready? Bobby said he'd help carry our bags out to the car, and that'll leave you to move Alec." Sam began gathering up their bags. He grabbed all of his own and one of Dean's, leaving Bobby to get the last two bags plus a blanket and pillow. There was an expectant pause as Bobby and Dean waited for him to tip over under the weight. He rolled his eyes at them and hauled the stuff out.

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean scooped Alec up off the mattress. "Let me go first." He headed towards the door with a fairly steady stride, and didn't even pause as Alec started to rouse. The kid was too well trained to not at least attempt to assess whatever situation was happening to make someone carry him. "Dude," Dean looked down as Alec's bleary eyes opened and blinked, "go back to sleep, I won't drop you." Dean kept moving. Alec really had no choice but to comply.

Dean nearly backed up when Bobby stopped in front of a mini-van. "Bobby? Do I look like a soccer mom?"

"You will if you give me any more lip," Bobby retorted. "It runs; that's all you need to worry about right now."

"Right." Sometimes even a Winchester knew when to lay down arms. Soon they had Alec laying across one of the back seats under a blanket and all their bags except the laptop bag stowed on the other. Dean and Bobby took a few minutes to get the first aid kit and a couple of bags of the important things from the weapons locker. Sam had produced a zip-lock bag, most likely stolen from Bobby, and wrote Alec's name on it. Into it, he dropped four syringes and the vial of medication.

"Well, now we have to keep him, since you've added him to the first aid kit," Dean quipped as he slid into the driver's seat. Sam's reply was eloquently made with a single finger.

"I'll bring your books back soon, Bobby."

"You damned well better."

XXXXX

It was only after the boys had been gone a good couple of hours that Bobby realized that he hadn't told them that their jackass of a father had called. But maybe it was better that he hadn't gotten the chance. Dean was going to have his hands full with Sam and Alec as it was. He didn't need to feel like he should be trying to manage his father as well. Or worry about keeping himself between John and Sam.

He also wasn't sure that John Winchester, Marine, was what Alec needed when he was trying to shake off a lifetime of being a military tool. Bobby didn't know whether Alec would automatically subvert to following John's orders or clash because John had no right or rank with which to boss him.

He would lay money on the fact that the kid had a problem with authority. Dean and Sam sure as hell both did. Nobody but John could get Dean to do something he didn't want to do. Sam was just as stubborn as they came, but Dean had a magic touch when it came to his little brother. He seemed to have the same magic touch with Alec, too.

Bobby also considered that he should call the oldest Winchester and let him know that the cat was out of the bag, at least where Sam was concerned. But quite frankly, Bobby didn't want to know if John would choose between the hunt and being at his children's side. And he didn't want Sam or Dean to ever know that John had had an opportunity to choose, because he didn't want to see the looks on their faces if John didn't choose them. The man just sometimes couldn't see the forest through the trees.

XXXXX

Dean followed the directions Sam was giving by way of pointed finger while Sam spoke on his cell to his doctor friend. He had filled the man in on a lot of things over the last few hours. He hung up when Dean entered the hospital campus. "He said to go in through the doctor's parking lot. To take the elevator up to the fourth floor and he'll be waiting for us." Sam looked into the back where Alec was wedged into a corner and barely conscious.

It had nothing to do with anything they had given him for the seizures. They had given up on that hours ago, because it wasn't helping for shit. He had become steadily more disoriented over the last six hours, and now Sam wasn't sure he was breathing quite right all the time. His sarcastic and smart ass commentary had been replaced by small hurt kitten noises that made Dean cringe and quite frankly want to pull over and hug the kid. They were fucked if they didn't get him medical help soon.

Sam squirmed over the front seat and into the back as soon as he had directed Dean into the right parking lot. He had Alec unwrapped from his cocoon of blankets by the time Dean was parked and had the back door open.

Dean hauled Alec out of the car and didn't even bother with trying to get him to stand or move on his own. He simply scooped Alec up and let Sam catch the doors. He was having enough trouble keeping a hold of the kid while walking that he didn't even really notice much about their surroundings. He just followed his youngest brother.

XXXXX

The colonel stood at the hallway window and looked down at a unit of X6s having monitored sparing matches. In theory, they were the perfect versions of the X5s. They had almost all of the enhanced abilities of the X5s but very little of the aggression, and much less of a tendency to lean towards independent thinking.

In other words, they were easier tools to use, and were extremely unlikely to defect. Dean Winchester's genetic material couldn't be found in any of them. They were all more pliable in personality and easy to mold.

Very few of them showed the sheer brilliance or versatility of thought that cropped up so frequently in his X5s, despite their comparable IQ. He wouldn't say he was disappointed in them. They were everything they were built to be. But he just didn't hold the same pride in them that he had for his X5s. Easier was not always better.

When they had started building the X6s, it had initially been to fix one simple flaw. He looked down at the pill bottle in his hand. It held fourteen pills and 494's full designation code printed on it. The X5s all had a neurological defect. A combination of bad planning, too much tinkering, and unbalanced brain chemistry. It all led up to a short in the system.

The X6s had been built without that flaw, but something had to be sacrificed in return. The X6s weren't quite as fast. The X5s were a half step faster than their younger cousins, but the price they paid for it was the seizures. Seizures that could be controlled easily enough, after a few had been sacrificed to figure out where the problem was.

The real trouble with the seizures was that each X5 was different. They were built from a common framework, but by no means the same mold. For the seizures to be effectively controlled, many had to have their medication tailor made for them. 494 had never been easy to deal with. Even medically. Lydecker had just finished talking to the doctor that managed 494's medical needs. 494's medication was highly compounded. It was a work of chemical art. There was not a market equivalent available that would stop the seizures and leave him awake and functioning. If 494 wanted to stop the seizures, he would have to come home.

Colonel Lydecker was grateful that all of his truly gifted X5s weren't as finicky. Max, for example, could be given simple supplemental tryptophan, something he had been much more grateful for before her escape. Truthfully, he knew that much of 494's somewhat fragile medical state was nothing wrong with his genetic makeup. It was Manticore's tinkering, and efforts at managing his behavior. Every medical disaster and stint in Psy-Ops required a barrage of lab work and altering of the chemical formula of his medication before he could be released back to his unit.

The doctor who was in charge of 494's care assured him that they had three and half to four days before the seizures became serious and then another eight to ten hours before they altered and became life threatening. The colonel knew that was a generous estimate.

He needed to find them before there was nothing left of 494 to find.

XXXXX

When Dean stepped out of the elevator, there was a young man of medium height and short blond hair waiting for them. Dean figured that the young man was Sam's doctor friend. "Come on." He waved for them to follow and crossed the hall into one of the patient rooms.

"Put him down." The tone was a clear order and Dean did as he was told, shooting a look at the two women, presumably nurses, waiting. They moved in almost as soon as his weight settled, if you could call it settling. Dean thought it was the most disturbing interpretive dance he had ever seen. And he had seen a few. There had been this chick when he was in high school. She had been a crappy dancer but great in bed.

The doctor herded them both towards the door. "Give us a few if you can. Otherwise, it'll be too crowded to move quickly. Sam, you look like shit." And with that, he disappeared into the room and half closed the door behind him, leaving them standing in the hall. Dean suddenly liked this man. He would take any ally he could get, since Sam seemed to think he could pretend that everything was fine. Also, he would earn serious points if he could help Alec. They'd outweigh the ones he had lost by separating him from the newest family member.

About a half an hour had passed since his brother had disappeared behind that closed door. The first thing he had done to distract himself was push Sam down into one of the padded chairs that were spaced periodically throughout the hall, like they weren't expecting patients to be able to make it the full distance. Sam nearly puddled in the chair, so Dean figured that maybe they were right. Then he paced.

It took him nearly ten minutes to figure out why the place was less depressingly plain and sterile than he expected. He was on the pediatrics floor. The walls were the same white he had come to expect, and the floor was white linoleum with a tan row of tiles at the edge which matched the pale wooden railing that ran the length of the hall, only broken up by patient room doorways. It was a little low to be comfortable for adult use, which he figured meant it might be around Sammy's knees. There were brightly colored pictures and an occasional balloon tied to a door handle.

The nurses, who wore scrubs with things like dinosaurs and teddy bears printed on them, watched him with understanding but never once tried to get him to stop pacing. He did stop and make a beeline for Sam when he saw a nurse approach him. Here it was. The part where they had to lie on paperwork and do some fast talking. He was a little startled when all he saw was the woman handing Sam a mug of coffee. Not a paper cup, but an actual mug. So much better than a clipboard and a reason to have to construct believable lies. She turned and offered him the other mug she was holding.

"Thanks, Suzie." Sam smiled up at her as he took the mug. Dean noted immediately that Sam had given her the genuine smile, not the polite one that everyone thought was genuine. His real smile could melt anyone's heart at one hundred paces.

"No problem. There's more coffee in kitchen at the end of hall." She left them and went into a patient room. She was short and a little plump, but curved in all the right places. He'd pay more attention later. He stared down at his coffee mug, a real mug with real coffee. The mug had a grumpy face on it. Sam's had a fish. These were staff owned mugs. Sam had given her a real smile. Sam knew these people. On a pediatrics floor.

"Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Yeah, say that again when you're strong enough to enforce it. When did you meet this doctor friend of yours?" He had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't going to like the answer. Sam had only been seventeen when he had started college. A year younger than most people. It wasn't entirely unreasonable. Sam was smart enough to use their constant moves to his advantage. He may have hated them, but that wouldn't stop him from twisting things to his advantage. Dean distinctly remembered that weird no man's land between middle school, junior high, and high school. Sam had bushwhacked that new school into bumping him up a grade.

In some parts of the country there was middle school, which was grade six through eight. In others parts there was junior high, which was seven through nine. Even though ninth grade went on the high school transcript, it wasn't actually in the high school. Sam had simply told them that he had finished junior high, when in reality he had only finished middle school. Dean had backed him up without any prompting, figuring if his baby brother thought he could hack skipping from eighth grade to tenth, who was he to stop the kid? When the records hadn't quite matched up, it wasn't a surprise. Sam's records were a mess. So they took the easy way out and gave in.

Other than a couple of algebra sticky spots Sam had done just fine and made it into Stanford at the age of seventeen. If only that transition had gone as smoothly.

"The end of my first semester." Normally he would have tried to deflect, but if Dean was busy tweaking out at him about something that had happened a year and a half ago, he wasn't worrying himself to death over Alec or wearing a hole in the floor.

"In the ER."

"Yes. In the ER."

"And you didn't call me?"

"Why would I?" It hadn't been that serious an injury, or he really would have called. But that wasn't why he had asked Dean the question. He had asked it to wind Dean up and keep his attention.

"Why? Because clearly you were hurt badly enough to end up here!" Dean didn't raise his voice, but he did gesture a bit wildly with one hand. The hand that wasn't holding the coffee, Sam noted. Coffee was like crack to Dean. Addictive and something he would protect to the point of violence.

"It was just a couple of stitches and some blood loss." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean. It was a move guaranteed to keep him fuming for another couple of minutes.

"Sam." Dean let it come out as a growl. Let Sam distract him and play him. They knew each other too well for him to not see what Sam was doing.

"Full story?" Sam took an appreciative sip of his coffee.

"Full story."

"I was out with friends and this guy tried to mug us. He started by waving a gun." He held up a hand to hold Dean off. "I would have just given in and coughed up whatever I had. Who cares, right? I'd won it hustling cards. But you know that look people get when they've just lost it?"

"Yeah." They sometimes saw it in victims of cases they worked. Sometimes someone had been pushed just around the bend at a place that you didn't want to follow to.

Sam nodded. "He wasn't going to let us walk away, money or no." He shrugged. "It was just muscle memory from there. It was easy enough to disarm him. I just hadn't counted on the broken bottle he managed to find. He got me. I got him with the knife you know I always carry."

"That must have gone over real well."

"Well, yeah, if you count that no one started screaming. I kicked the bottle and the gun into the drain and by the time the cops got there, dropped the knife. Said it was his."

"You got hurt getting it from him and then defended yourself?"

"Exactly. Of course, there was an ER trip."

"Of course."

"Collin caught my name, lied and said that it was totally a knife wound, admitted me to buy time, and, well, I was a minor and no one could get a hold of Dad . . ."

"Admittedly, that was pretty slick." Dean took a large but somehow still experimental swallow of coffee. He settled on the arm of the chair Sam was sitting in, finally able to stand still for a few minutes. "That how you know Suzie?"

Sam was saved from having to answer by Alec's door opening and Sam's doctor friend stepping out into the hall. "I need you two in here, I think."

Dean was up and across the hall in less than a second, coffee mug left sitting on the arm of the chair. Sam was slower, but not from lack of effort. "Why? What's wrong? Is Alec . . ."

The doctor cut Dean off. "He's not responding to the medication we've given him, and now we can't get near him. He's panicking."

XXXXX

_Author's note #2: For everyone who reviewed that I didn't reply to, I absolutely promise that I read each and every review. And then I hug them._


	13. Chapter 13

_Authors note: Okay. Let's try this again. The bit from the last author's note about the Phenobarbital? Yeah, clearly that should have been in this author's note. What can I say? I'm a moron. _

_Also, randomly, I think that there is something wrong with my 'H' key. It's sticky._

_I am making up medical stuff again. Just thought I'd let people know. Mostly details like what Alec's IV meds would be. I mean, let's face it, he most likely need electrolytes and such, but what are you gonna do, you know? Though I know for a fact that you can get IV glucose and you can have seizures from low blood glucose/sugar. It's usually seen in Type 1 diabetics but it can happen to other people._

_Other inaccuracies. Floor nurses hardly ever run errands like drawing blood or going to the hospital pharmacy. I'm not sure who does it, but not the nurses. They do often do IVs though. Having been to several ERs and many Peds wards as a kid, I gotta say Peds nurses have a magic touch. But it's not necessarily an inaccuracy here, because they're only using trusted staff. Just wanted to put it out there before someone mentioned it._

_Alec and his pain meds. Most seizures that come with physical convulsions are painful. I mean, can you imagine the muscle strain that has to cause, and your joints trying to do things that they just aren't meant to do? Now imagine having that happen all day. His reaction to the morphine? It affects people in different ways. I got advice on Alec's reaction to it. _

_And finally, werewolves. So . . . Kouri and I once did this awesome little story with werewolves. I won't say that they were normal people, but they knew what they were, and who they were, and how to behave no matter what their form. That's the sort of 'wolf Suzie is. I know it's different from SPN canon, but . . . yeah. There it is._

_Okay, hugely long author's note done now. Enjoy the chapter!_

Chapter 13

Dean wasn't listening anymore. He just pushed into the room and did a quick visual sweep until he saw Alec. Unsurprisingly, the kid was wedged into the corner, all balled up. Dean didn't look up as he heard Sam and his doctor friend follow him in, but he did continue to listen.

"There's no way he can be thinking straight at this point, and nothing I've tried works. Not that it matters; he's yanked two IVs out." The doctor sounded damned worried. Dean didn't like that at all. "We can't get anywhere near him," the man continued, "let alone hold him to treat him." Dean's back was to the door, so he didn't see Suzie step into it and give Collin a questioning look. Or Sam's small but firm head shake no.

"Give me a few minutes." Dean spoke from were he was crouched down next to Alec. Sam noticed that the two nurses were looking grim, one showing definite bruises. Sam thought they were lucky that nothing was broken. Dean reached out to Alec. "I honestly don't think you guys as a profession have ever been anything but bad news for him." Sam looked down. He knew what Alec saw when a doctor approached. It wasn't someone who wanted to help. It was a nightmare at least as bad as anything they hunted. Maybe even worse, because people could make choices, which meant that the ones at the facility chose to hurt them.

They all watched as Dean reached out a hand to his convulsing younger twin, only to have it smacked away. "Come on, dude. It's just me, your awesome big brother." He reached out again, and this time calmly blocked Alec's defensive move. Dean knew they were in real trouble if they couldn't get close to him soon. There had been no real force in the blow he had deflected, and Dean guessed by the way the kid was gasping for air that it was partly because he didn't have enough oxygen to get his body to obey anymore.

Alec's lip curled up in a feral snarl, but the effect was completely ruined when he convulsed hard. They all winced at the sound of his head connecting with the wall. Dr. Collin Bishop watched a human-looking young man give in to a completely animalistic reaction to being cornered, and suddenly had an idea. "Get him calmed down. Let him stay in that corner if he wants, just get a pillow behind his head. Last thing we need is a concussion. Get some O2 on him. And for God's sake get me a line. If we don't get this stopped soon, I think this will look like a picnic compared to what's coming. I'll be back. I have an idea." With that, he bolted from the room.

He used the phone in an unused patient room to call the only other doctor he could think of who might have some sort of useful advice on this rather unusual patient. He didn't want the nurses who weren't in on this mess overhearing. After a hurried conversation leaving a very confused man in his wake, he bolted down to the hospital pharmacy. Then he jogged back up to Alec's room, juggling two vials of medication.

Dean seemed to have worked something of a minor miracle in the fifteen minutes he had been gone. The young man had Alec pulled up against him, which had to be leaving some nasty bruises. Alec seemed like he was nearly hysterical, but at least he wasn't trying to actively injure anyone anymore. When the seizing stopped for a moment, he lay back, limp against Dean's side, head tipped back as he gasped for air, a few tears sliding down from the corner of his eyes and into his short hair.

Alec twitched and whimpered. Again Collin was reminded more of an animal than a human. Kelsey, one of the nurses, leapt at the brief break in the seizures to try and start yet another IV line. Blood still slid sluggishly from the wound from one of the other sites. Alec tried to pull away as soon as the needle made skin contact, words spilling in a jumble out of his mouth. Things like 'sorry' and 'do better' and 'please no'. Collin watched as Dean's jaw tightened, and he held Alec as still as he could for Kelsey, all the while talking to the kid in a voice so low that he was sure it wasn't meant for anyone's ears but Alec's.

Collin took a couple of syringes from the nurses' kit of supplies and drew medication out of one of his vials after doing some mental math to determine dosage. He was about to draw up a second syringe to take into account the fact that Alec wasn't human, but then he noticed Sam staring at him, or more accurately at the syringe in his hand, with a sort of horrified, terrified anger. That wasn't his young friend he was looking at. This was someone who had had something very bad happen to him recently.

Mercifully, Dean seemed to notice too. Collin was suddenly glad he had been an only child. Not for his own sake, but for his parents', and then later for his mother's. Sam had, eventually, after one too many drinks, admitted that it was Dean who had been his primary caretaker. Dean had been the parent, and now Dean was caught between two acutely distressed children that needed him.

"Sam." Collin let his eyes shift to Dean, and he stilled his hands. He knew panic when he saw it, and he did not want Sam panicked. The young man could be very dangerous when motivated to be. Sam's attention didn't shift. "Sammy." Either the nickname or the sharper tone caught Sam's attention; Collin had no way of telling which.

"Dean." Sam's tone was nearly desperate.

"Yeah. Look at me." He pulled Alec closer, despite the damage that the kid could do to him. Sam didn't obey. "Look. At. Me." This time Sam did, slowly. "You told me you trusted this guy. You told me you trusted him with your family. Did you lie to me?"

"Dean?" A little sanity returned as Collin watched.

"Did you?"

"No. I . . ." Sam swallowed, rubbed at his temple with the heel of his hand, which was a gesture Collin had never seen him make before.

"No?" Dean asked. Alec had started to try to pry the newest IV out, and Dean calmly pulled his hands apart without looking.

"No." Sam's tone was decisive now.

"Then act like it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, what I need you to do is go with one of these nice, under-appreciated nurses who are putting up with our crap, and find an ace bandage." He tilted his head towards Wendy, who was standing back because the corner didn't have room for her. Collin nodded, and she beckoned to Sam, who followed her out of the room.

"He's never acted like that before," Collin said, as he looked down at Dean. "What happened?" He had to admit that he was impressed. With just a few words, Dean had pulled Sam out of what easily could have been some sort of panicked fit and then redirected him so he had time to find his balance again.

"A lot. He has a right to be tweaked, just like Alec does. Let's leave it at that for now, 'kay?" Sam and Wendy came back in then; Sam was holding an ace bandage as requested. He had to admit that he had no idea what the point was, other than to distract Sam, until Sam slipped around him and knelt in front of Dean and Alec, the latter of whom was starting to seize again. "Uh, Doc?" Collin had the sinking sensation that Dean would call him that forever. "You want to use whatever it is you got there?" Sam turned and gave him a tiny smile, to show that everything was good between them.

"Yeah." He moved closer, which Alec clearly didn't like, but he didn't have the luxury of waiting to gain his trust. He slid the needle of the syringe into the IV port that was about halfway up the line. He watched the three of them as he let the medication slowly join the saline that was already mixing with Alec's bloodstream. They would need blood work before he could do anything besides try to stop the seizure and combat the obvious dehydration. Sam was carefully and efficiently wrapping the ace bandage over Alec's hand and the IV without being asked. Collin watched carefully, but Sam was wrapping it loosely enough that it wouldn't interfere with anything, and would effectively keep a disoriented Alec from yanking it out.

When Sam was done, he sat back on his heels and watched Alec anxiously. Once the syringe was empty, Collin pulled it out and dropped it into the sharps container that was mounted to the wall. He looked down at his watch. Five minutes. He was giving the medication five minutes. The first dose had been based purely on conventional dosing methods and weight. The second dose, if needed, would take into account that he was dealing with someone that might be burning it off faster than any human could. At four minutes, he started drawing up another syringe. At five minutes he used it.

They whole room breathed a sigh of relief as Alec slipped into unconsciousness and went limp. Collin, Kelsey, and Wendy lifted him to the bed. Dean tried to help, but Collin glared him down. Dean wasn't moving until he was sure that Alec hadn't hurt the man.

One of his under-appreciated staff went to check Dean out while Collin and the other settled Alec. Collin was relived to finally be able to get an oxygen canula under the young man's nose. A mask would have been preferable, but somehow he figured if he didn't make Alec uncomfortable, when he woke he would be less likely to fight them. Heart monitor was next set to beep silently, and an oximeter was clipped to his finger. None of the numbers looked great, but they sure looked a hell of a lot better than he had feared.

Dean and Sam were both standing by this time. He looked over at them. "Well?"

"I'm fine," Dean said, as if he had been insulted personally.

"He's got a few nasty bruises but other than that he'll live," Kelsey reported.

They moved on to first wipe the blood off Alec's arm and then tightly tape down gauze pads over the previous IV sites. Those could bleed like a bitch even when taken out properly. Then they carefully rolled Alec on to his side to get a look at his shoulder. "What's this?" Collin had seen the bandages earlier when they had first taken Alec's shirt off in an attempt to get the heart monitor hooked up.

Dean shot a quick look at Kelsey, who rolled her eyes at him. "If I had to make a guess," Dean looked at Collin, then made a face, "which apparently I do. I'd venture to guess a bullet wound."

"There's no exit wound."

"An unlucky bullet wound?"

Collin was imagining all sort of horrible things that could be hidden under the heavy gauze padding. Needless to say, he was nearly stymied for a moment when all he saw was neat stitching and clean healing. It didn't look pleasant by any means, but it did seem to be healing well. He looked up at Dean. "You do this?"

Dean shrugged. "I didn't have a lot of options and he said he didn't have time."

"Didn't have time?" The doc clearly was calling bullshit. He was looking at the wound and how far along the healing was. There had been plenty of time. Oodles of time.

"That's only three days old, dude."

". . . you're lying." Collin's eyes jumped from Alec's exposed shoulder up to Dean, who returned his look evenly.

"I shit you not. He said if we didn't get it out, he would just heal over it and then get sick. So I did what I had to."

Dean watched as the doctor put gloves on and carefully ran fingers over the wound, pressing on it a little. "If it's healing this quickly, I think you made the right call. You did a good job."

"Give the kid some credit; he held still through it and all I had for him was novocaine. The bullet was actually stuck in the bone. I had to yank it free."

Collin's fingers moved up and to the front, across the bone. "It's not shattered," he said. There was swelling, but not enough for the sort of catastrophic damage that should have come from a bullet hitting bone.

"Nope. They must be made of titanium."

"No shit." He put a clean bandage over the wound. "I'll get him a sling and have it x-rayed. Because these seizures can't have helped." He settled Alec back down, then grabbed Alec's brand new chart and jotted a few things down. After that, he pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket, writing quickly first on one sheet that he handed to Kelsey, then something else on the next sheet, which went to Wendy. "I need that from the pharmacy and those labs drawn and run. Have Mike run them. He owes me a favor and I'm calling it in. Get a couple of techs from radiology up here."

"You got it." Kelsey said, as she snatched the slip from his fingers. Both nurses left, then one came back in and set about drawing several vials of blood. They all knew Alec was truly out for the count when he didn't even twitch during the process. Sam did, though, and Collin liked that not at all.

Sam rubbed at his temple again, which caused Dean to give him a hooded look, but then he shook his head a little and looked up, all Sam concern and curiosity. "So what did you give him?" Dean shoved Sam into a chair and started peeling Alec out of his boots. They hadn't had time to undress him, and had just settled for stripping off his shirt and putting a hospital johnny on him, which had given them a nice view of a well padded wound in the back of his shoulder.

Collin rubbed the back of his head and gave them a sheepish grin. "Phenobarbital. It's for cats, or at least cats with epilepsy. First line treatment, I'm told."

Dean turned to face the man, Alec's combat boot in hand. "You don't sound so sure there, slick."

"Well, I called my dog Charlie's vet – "

"You called a _vet_ about my _brother_?" Dean pointed at him sharply with the boot.

Collin quickly plucked the footwear out of Dean's hand before it could make contact with his chest. "Yes, I did." He waved at Alec's non-seizing form. "Worked like a charm." He watched as Dean's jaw clenched. "Look, fact of the matter was that I'd already tried what we would use on a normal human, and it wasn't working." If there was one thing he had learned after med school, it was how to halt a parent getting ready to go on the warpath. "I saw two choices in the immediate future."

"Yeah? What were those." Collin looked past Dean's scowl to Sam, who just looked tired.

"Try something weird, like calling a vet for advice on someone who might be a hundred eighty pounds of seizing cat, or shove a breathing tube down his throat, because he was starting to actually turn blue." Dean deflated. "I took a chance, hoping that I could stop things from getting worse without traumatizing him." He watched as Dean sat down on the foot of Alec's bed, and then handed him back Alec's boot.

Kelsey came in then and changed out the IV bag for a couple of new ones, after giving Sam and Dean a reassuring smile. She left another vial of medication and syringe with him before she left.

"What's that?" Dean sounded almost nervous.

"A concoction of Phenobarbital, saline, and glucose," Collin said, as he hooked a flimsy chair over from the other bed with his foot. He sat facing them, straddling the back of it. Dean had dropped Alec's boot to the floor and was working on the second one.

"Why all of that?" he asked, without looking up.

"The Phenobarb is a sedative and an anticonvulsive." He held up the vial. "This is lorazepam. It's a safety net. It's another anticonvulsive, with the added bonus of being an anti-anxiety medication and a muscle relaxant. Dr. Lewis, the vet, said he'd use valium if the Phenobarbital didn't do the trick, but since you were trying that in the car and it wasn't working that well, I'll give this a go if I have to. It's similar, but not the same." Dean wasn't so bad if he wasn't trying to take your head off, but Collin could see why Sam was so laid back. Why drunken college idiots and frat boys with inflated egos didn't ruffle Sam in the least. Dean was an intense person. That was easy to see. After growing up with someone like that, it would take a lot to ruffle Sam's feathers. "Saline is to work on the dehydration."

Both Sam and Dean hit him with the exact same slightly wide-eyed look. "We didn't think . . ."

"About trying to give him anything while he was convulsing and you were trying to drive?" Collin assumed, and Sam nodded. "It was a good call. Dehydration I can fix, but what if he had vomited and then done something wonderful like aspirated? You did fine." Sam relaxed; Dean merely nodded and went back to what he was doing. "Glucose, because I'm willing to lay money he burns more energy just laying around than we do running a marathon, and the last thing we need is a seizure because he's got a low blood sugar. Wouldn't that just be a kick in the ass." Alec's second boot hit the tile floor like a ball of lead. He figured that most likely summed up Dean's feelings on the matter.

"So now what?" Sam asked, from where he had sagged down into the chair. It had not escaped Collin's notice that Dean had plunked his brother in the only comfortable chair in the room.

"Now, I try to get some sort of medical history from you guys and wait for the blood work to come back to see what else we're working with."

"Shouldn't we wait for him to wake up for that?" Dean asked, as he efficiently stripped Alec's cargo pants off and tucked him under the blankets like he was used to it. Modesty seemed to have skipped the entire family. Collin had noticed on several occasions that it had surely skipped Sam. The kid just didn't know how to be body shy.

"He's not going to wake up until tomorrow, if we're lucky. And if he does, I might just knock him out again."

"What?" Dean gave him a narrow eyed look.

"Why?" Sam, who trusted him, just looked worried.

"Seizures always come with – " Collin paused to sort technical terms into plain language. "They wipe a person out. If they do manage to stay awake, they're often disoriented, because all the signals in their brain have been tangled up. Personally, I'd prefer to give that a miss. Less traumatic for him to sleep past that, and less likely that one of us will get our face broken."

Sam shifted a look between Collin and Dean. He knew that Collin had someone on the floor strong enough to handle Alec, but Dean didn't. Dean caught the look, though. Collin noticed that. Dean tilted his head a little, and Sam's chin came up in that stubborn way he had. Dean raised an eyebrow by a millimeter, causing Sam to look more obstinate for a second, then shift his gaze down. Dean nodded. They had just had an entire argument and Dean had won.

"He'll get past it." Collin looked Dean right in the eye as he said the words. Dean was the parent here, age aside. If Dean believed and understood, it would help both Alec and Sam. "He'll be okay. I won't lie and say it'll be quick, but it will happen."

Dean nodded again, and a lot of the tension seemed to drain away.

"Now while we wait for those lab results, I have some questions for you, and I'm sure you have some for me." Both Sam and Dean nodded. Collin was honestly a little surprised that Sam didn't have a list, but figured that he had a mental one. "Why don't you start?" The crisis for the moment was over. He knew parents, and he knew hunters. Both Dean and Sam would want to be informed, but they would want it in their own way, so they could take it all in and get it right the first time.

"What – " Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "What happened? 'Cause I gotta say, I've never run up against something like this."

"He was experiencing what's called status epilepticus."

"Constant seizure?" Sam knew Church Latin, and medical terminology wasn't too far off.

"Basically. It's not common, but it does happen. And he was experiencing a strange form of it. You guys want the quick, dirty, non-medical description of seizures?"

"Jesus Christ, yes." Dean almost cracked a smile.

"The brain works on electrical signals. Seizures are when the signals short out in some places and overload in others, or just misfire altogether. I'll give you the technical terms later so Sam can practice his Google-Fu."

"You really do know him."

"Oh yeah." Collin grinned, and Sam pouted. "There are a bunch of different kinds of seizures, but they can be broken into two really basic groups. Ones that cause movement and ones that don't. Understand that I am making ridiculously wide generalization here. Like saying that if a gun is long, it's a shotgun." He got another nod out of Dean. "Most seizures are misfires in the brain, and they stay there. No movement. Sometimes they spread and you see what most people think of as a seizure. The convulsions. The jerking and all that."

"So that's what happened to Alec."

"I . . . uh, honestly? I don't think so."

"But that's what we saw."

"Yes, it is. But you said he was rational, right?"

"Mostly. I mean, for a while. He knew what was going on and who we were and all that," Dean offered. Collin wondered why he was doing all the talking. Fading to the background when questions were being asked wasn't Sam's style. Maybe it was because between the two of them, Dean was the authority figure. Maybe it was because Sam looked beyond tired. Hell, maybe it was both together.

"I think – " Collin spread his hands in a sort of surrender – "that his seizures skipped the first step. Those kind of seizures usually mean the person is . . . off. They aren't home at all. They're hallucinating, being mindlessly aggressive, totally unresponsive, _something. _But Alec wasn't like that."

"Uh, you were there when he tried to dismantle your nurse, right?"

"It wasn't the same. You said he has a phobia, and the muscle spasms were making it hard for him to breathe. He wasn't getting enough oxygen, making his panic even worse. That part wasn't a seizure. Everything he was reacting to was real, even if he was afraid of it."

He watched Dean turn that over in his head. "Okay. I can see that."

"Purely myoclonic seizures are pretty rare."

"What? Dude, what happened to using English for those of use who aren't Stanford brain trust."

"He says that like he's stupid." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Pure movement seizures. They usually come from the motor cortex. Most people will have myoclonic spasms sometimes. That weird jerk some people have right when they fall asleep, or getting the hiccups. It's the same thing. Just very harmless. People that have myoclonic epilepsy don't have life-threatening seizures. It can make them miserable so it's treated with medication, but it isn't life threatening. So that isn't what's going on with Alec, either."

"So you don't know _why_ he was having the seizures."

"No. Not yet I don't. I'm hoping the blood work can give me a clue. And Alec himself, when he's with it again. And maybe you guys."

"Hate to say it, but I've only known him a week."

"I thought you said he was your brother?"

"He is." Sam spoke up, which relieved the doctor. Collin was worried about the teen. He looked like shit, was hardly talking at all, and then there had been that disturbing moment of panic earlier. "Dean says he is, so he is. But . . . you know how normally we live in an obnoxious fantasy novel? Alec is from the science fiction version. He's a government built weapon. Winchester DNA. But we didn't know about him until recently."

"Right. I'm not going to ask. I don't want to know."

"Smart man." Dean's attitude was dry and prickly at best.

"I'm glad you think so, since you're letting me medicate your brother."

"You're also an ass."

"I try." Collin grinned, which Sam at least made an attempt to return. It was a little shaky. "Did he do anything weird before this started? Or at least anything that struck you as being odd, even if you didn't know him?"

"He wasn't eating really the day before," Sam volunteered. "Just drinking a lot of milk."

"I saw his hands shake. I wrote it off because, you know, he'd had a rough week. And that's without getting into the bullet I dug out of his shoulder."

"Emotional stress can sometimes set off seizures in people with epilepsy." Collin started jotting down facts on the back of one of Alec's forms.

"He said it was because he ran out of meds, but when we went through his stuff, we couldn't even find a bottle," Sam offered.

"Which means he went without for, at this point, four days," Dean added.

Collin nodded. Clearly Alec's faster metabolism didn't give him much leeway.

XXXXX

It had been a long friggin' night. Dean wandered down the hall to the holy coffee pot in the nurses' little kitchen, doing an amazing impression of a zombie. He left Alec curled up into a tight ball under a mountain of blankets, monitors, and IVs, drugged out of his mind. He had started to surface a couple of times in the night, but it was only enough for some disoriented panic where he would apologize, say he was cold, and make those horribly sad kitten noises. Sam was sacked out across the other bed. The kid hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he had less than no reserves. He had laid down for what was supposed to be to stretch out his ridiculously storkish frame. He had been asleep in moment. Dean simply took his shoes off of him and pulled a blanked up over him.

Alec had started seizing again about four hours after they had finally gotten him settled. He had barely woken up, asking for Biggs, whoever or whatever that was, but it hadn't lasted long before Doc Collin had dumped something new and exciting into his bloodstream. It had hit the kid like a ton of bricks, and Dean was glad. Alec was coming seriously unglued, and Dean didn't want to watch it, especially since he couldn't do much to help.

He reminded Dean of an inconsolable five-year-old Sam. But Alec was too old, too damaged, and too feral to just be rocked to sleep. The kid barely let anyone touch him.

Dean took a long slow swallow of coffee while still standing in front of the pot. He leaned back against the opposite wall and let the heat from the drink and the mug melt a little of his tension away. He closed his eyes and wished that he didn't have to be the adult. That he could be a kid again, drinking coffee with his father like the mere act made him an adult. Not just any adult, but one like his father, the quiet hero that could save anyone.

But John wasn't there. Just Dean, which made him feel like he was a child again, holding down the fort, taking care of Sam until John came back.

Suzie came in then and poured a mug of coffee for herself, leaning against the counter. "How are you holding up?"

"You're a werewolf." It was said with quiet hostility. He and Sam had had a long talk about keeping secrets in the late hours of the night.

"I guess Sam told you."

"Yeah. He told me. Doc Collin knows, and you're in here working with kids."

"Yes." He watched her sip her coffee, utterly unperturbed by his glare. "I've been one since I was fifteen."

"So some monster got you, and you figured you would work with kids? And what, spread the love if your lunch was late someday?"

"You're a prejudiced ass. And my father is not a monster."

"Oh, no, it's perfectly normal for a man to do this to his kid."

"I wanted him to turn me. It's a gift passed through our family. You should also think about the fact that your seizing little brother is no more human than I am, and that I'm no less human than him. If you can love him, you might want to think about having some tolerance for me. Dr. Bishop wants to talk to you in his office before Sam wakes up. Down the hall, through the double doors, to the left and first door on your right. Get a move on."

It wasn't the first time he had been read the riot act by a woman. But it was the first time he hadn't shot a werewolf on sight. She took her coffee and left. He didn't know what to think. Sam had smiled at a werewolf. His baby brother was friends with monsters. And what the hell had that crack about Alec meant, anyway? Damned women. Damned wolves, and damned monsters. And double damn them all when they were wrapped up in a package with nice breasts and a cute butt.

He pried himself away from the wall and headed off down the hall and through the double doors. After a moment, he zeroed in on Doc Collin's office and stuck his head in. Sam's friend looked up from his computer and gave Dean a wry grin. "Pissed Suzie off, didn't you."

Dean stepped the rest of the way in and closed the door. "Yeah. And I'm feeling kinda cranky with you, too." He looked around the office, which was cluttered. The wall to the right of the door was covered in children's drawings, haphazardly tacked up around a detailed lunar calendar. Following the wall around there was wide and heavy wooden bookshelf. The top two shelves were crammed with books, the middle shelf seemed to spend its time being an extension of the desk, and the bottom looked like a condensed motel room. There were two small piles of clothing and a pair of sneakers, a twelve pack of diet Coke, a box of cereal, and a bunch of other miscellaneous crap.

"What for? People get pissed at me all time. You have to be more specific."

"Letting a monster work with kids." Dean didn't bother focusing on the man yet. He was still surveying the office. The wall opposite the door was taken up by a large window and those fancy doctors certificates. The office wasn't big, and Doc Collin's desk and the two chairs in front of it took up most of the space. The man had a terrarium with what looked like funny-looking frogs bobbing around inside, on the end of his desk by the window. The rest of the desk was filled with a laptop, charts, papers, and an accumulation of paper coffee cups.

"To clue you in, I don't do the hiring or firing. So I don't let her do anything. Besides, she was there last night as a favor to me." He didn't look in the least bit intimidated as he looked up at Dean. "You want to have a seat?"

Dean sprawled into on of the chairs. "A favor? What the hell kind of favor?" His eyes finally took in Doc Collin. The man was dressed in what could be termed business casual, topped off by a white lab coat.

Collin took a long minute to really give Dean a thorough look. It was the first time he had really gotten a chance to since they had showed up the day before, Dean carrying what appeared to be his twin brother out of the elevator. As he looked at Dean sprawled across the chair, he suddenly realized how young in years Dean really was. Only four years older than Sam. Only twenty-three. Only twenty-three and manning up to take care of his battered family. Most people could barely take care of themselves properly at that age. Collin remembered sneaking into his mom's house late at night, knowing he could do his laundry for free, raid the fridge, and that his mom would help him with the dizzying financial aid papers in the morning.

He had been still crawling home to mommy, and Dean had already raised Sam. That was obvious. And he had done a commendable job. Sam was what most people would consider a credit to any parent, and they only saw half of what the young man was. Collin would be the first to admit that there were still a lot of blank spots in the Winchester history, but Alec obviously had some very serious issues. Issues that Dean was managing easily. None of it changed the fact that Dean was still young.

He was still young enough that he still had a few things to learn about life. Collin realized that there was no point in being angry over Dean's blatant prejudice. He'd had to work through Sam's. Dean's belligerence was most likely just his way of trying to maintain control over the situation. Collin sure as hell didn't blame him for that.

"A favor, mostly for Alec." That was the way to get Dean to listen. Make it about his brothers. "Seizures can fuck a person up. Twist them around and make them violent, or make them run. They can make a person do a lot of crazy shit, Dean."

"What the fuck does that have to do with you calling in a werewolf?"

"She's strong enough to handle Alec. At least, I think she is." Dean looked like he was about to say some thing really crude, so Collin started talking again. "I figured that tangling with her would be less frightening for him than, say, eight orderlies and a boat load of drugs." He watched as Dean's eyebrows came down in a scowl, and his lips went tight. "I'm right, aren't I."

"Yeah." A fact which clearly pissed Dean off.

"You'll also notice that Suzie wasn't one of his nurses. That was her idea, because she doesn't want to stress him out and she isn't sure how well he'll take to mixing with her, given that she's a wolf and he's a cat." Collin was pleased to see that this shut Dean up for a second. But not much longer.

"Her idea, huh?"

"Yeah. About all I know about the mixing of cats and dogs is that they get separate waiting rooms at the vet's office."

"Alec isn't that much of a cat," Dean said, but he didn't sound so sure.

"Suzie says she can smell it and she hasn't even been in his room." What she had actually said was that he smelled like a sick, frightened cat, but Collin figured that Dean didn't need to hear those qualifiers.

Dean seemed to consider this for a long minute. "You going to be able to help him anyway?" Collin was impressed by how smoothly Dean moved away from the disagreement. This way he didn't have to give in or risk losing. Sam must have hated that behavior.

"I'm sure as hell going to try. Care to tell me they full story?" Currently there were so many damned blanks that there was more hole than story. Not that he expected Dean to just 'fess up to everything. He was a hunter and had most likely been hiding and lying since he was six.

"You're got all you need. Alec is having seizures. Fix 'em."

"Have you ever watched House?"

"What?"

"The TV show."

"Yeah, I know. Just trying to figure out what the hell it has to do with anything. You gonna tell me that my brother has Lupus?"

Collin couldn't help but laugh. "No. I'm going to tell you that every detail helps." He took a gulp of his coffee. "I'm also going to say that Sam is my friend, and that he disappeared for a month and came back looking like he's practicing for the anorexia Olympics. Not even to mention his sparkling new fear of doctors." He finished his coffee. "I don't think I need to even ask about Alec, do I?"

"You know everything about Alec that we do." Dean ran a tired hand over his hair. "Started out as my twin and then they tinkered with him. But when he says tinker, I think he means with a hacksaw. Before you ask, I'm basically healthy. Hay fever in the wrong part of the country at the wrong time, and that's all. No epilepsy, that's for damned sure."

Collin nodded. "We'll have to wait and get a medical history from him, then." He felt his shoulders slump a little when Dean snorted derisively.

"Yeah, dunno how much luck you'll have. He's real close-mouthed. He's got someone to protect. Just don't know who."

"What happened?"

"I don't know!" Dean clenched his hands around the arms of the chair. "That's the problem. I don't know. Sam's never blocked me out like this before." The fact the Sam was blocking him out now clearly hurt. Collin watched as Dean seemed to be caught somewhere between pain and anger. "We have to get Alec squared away before I . . . just . . . what a fucking mess." Collin kept his mouth shut while Dean got a hold of himself, because he was pretty damned sure that Dean would rather punch him in the face than hear any words of consolation. "You wanna know what I know about the last month or so? Here it is. In bullet point," he said, and began to sum up the story as quickly and efficiently as he could.

There was a long pause after he finished, as Collin started to suspect that he was trapped in his office with a crazy person. Not that he blamed the kid. Most people, he reflected, would be trying to call the psych ward after that story. But it wasn't the far-fetched story that made Collin think Dean was nuts. It was simply that no one under that much stress could be sane. "I'll see if Sam will let me check him over. Maybe run some lab work."

"Thanks." Dean's relief was obvious.

"I think the first thing that you all need is rest. Lots of it."

"Sam's sleeping like a log. And you have Alec so drugged he can't see straight, so I'd say the rest is uh, you know, implemented."

"All of you."

"I'm fine."

"You're stuck here for a while. Might as well take advantage of it."

"Sure, Doc. Whatever you say." Dean stood. "This heart-to-heart's been great. Tell anyone and I'll punch you. Also, you might want to lose the lab coat. Last two dudes the kid saw in lab coats, he killed."

". . . right." Collin was still trying to turn that over in his head when Dean tossed a smirk and a wave over his shoulder and disappeared out the door and into the hall.

XXXXX

His sense of smell came back first. Chemical clean. His body tried to tense up, but all that happened was a muscle in his cheek ticked, and he felt heavier. Skipping right past heavy into heavier. He sniffed a little, quietly. It was animal instinct. Oxygen. Direct right into his nose. Medical rubber, laundry soap, cotton, adhesive, and that funny smell that only ace bandages have. Medical. Med Lab.

The small frightened mewl was involuntary. Fortunately, nothing was working but his little kitty nose yet, so the actual noise never made it out of his mouth. Kept him from embarrassing himself. He sniffed again, hoping to identify which tech or doctor had been left supervising him. He needed to decide if he should try to will himself to death or just into a coma. The scent wasn't right, though. It was Ordinary, yes, but that was gunpowder. And salt and leather. He saw his own face in his mind behind his eyes.

Sensation came next. He was curled up. Hands by his face. There was a pillow and a mattress. Both soft enough to be pleasurable to lay on. He was warm, the blankets heavy like everything else. Why was he warm? Manticore policy was cold. Cold cats were easier to keep strapped down. Couldn't heal if the monsters couldn't get to the wounds. He was confused. His fingers twitched. How 'huh?' translated through his foggy brain to 'move fingers', he wouldn't ever really figure out.

Because that little twitch was all it took. The pain rolled out from his fingers and had no mercy. Everything hurt. If it was contained by the borders of his skin, it screamed. Sharp and grinding between his bones, dull and crushing around his muscles. This time the noise made it out of his mind and out of his mouth. Fine time for his vocal cords to come back online.

He had lost time. He was sure of that. Unnerving to say the least. Everything was confused. Holy fuck, did he hurt. Maybe he had gone ten rounds with one of those souped-up, terminal head case Russians?

"Hey, looks like Sleeping Beauty decided to grace us with his presence."

Now he knew his head was scrambled. He was talking to himself. "Fucking hate Russians." It sounded a little off to his ears, but it worked well enough.

"What?" The voice moved closer, which was odd, since he was talking to himself.

"Dean, I, uh, don't think that was English." This voice was coming from behind him. Hey, his ears were working. He supposed maybe they had been for a while. Not English? He repeated himself. In English.

"They make good vodka. Think you can get your eyes to open there, kiddo?"

Kiddo? What the hell was that about? There was a Marine who called him that once. Ollie Durand. Real first name of Oliver. He hated it. Called him kiddo and gave him . . . "Scotch. Like scotch. Is better." He definitely used English this time.

He pried his eyes open. And there he was. Looking at himself. He blinked a couple of times slowly. His memories were just jumbled, not gone. It took a couple of minutes for them to settle. "Dean."

"The one and only, Little Toaster." Dean was sitting, so they were at eye level.

"Funny." His fingers twitched again, and then he shivered. It made his bones rattle in an unpleasant fashion.

"You with us this time, or are you just going to say you're cold?" Dean's look suggested that he expected Alec to start not making any sense.

"Not cold."

"Good to hear, because you feel like a furnace."

"S'nice." He blinked slowly. It was about the only movement that didn't hurt like a bitch. "Sam?" His brain was starting to rev into gear, even if it felt like he had lead in his veins.

"Behind you." He heard the slight squeak of Sam's sneakers.

He tried to roll onto his back so he could see them both, but it was one of the stupider ideas he had had lately. He knew for a fact that the pathetic little noise he heard had come out of his mouth. He chose not to acknowledge the few tears that escaped his eyes. He swore. Creatively. In several languages. He ended with, "Shit, okay, so moving is out." He watched his fingers twitch a little.

Dean used a careful thumb to wipe the tears off his face, but other than that, pretended that they hadn't happened. "Doc Collin said you'd most likely need something."

"Need something?" Alec was clearly confused.

Sam stood and circled around then. "For the pain." Sam looked at him for a long moment. Dean expected a smart ass comment from Alec about Sam taking a picture, but Alec just watched Sam right back. "They never gave any of you anything, did they?"

"How'd you guess." His tone was dry, but that may have been because he hadn't drunk a damned thing in just about forty-eight hours.

"Just a hunch." Sam left to get a nurse. It only took a few minutes for one of his nurses to come in, show him what she was giving him, and load it into his IV. He wondered why he got the courtesy of being informed.

"Oh. That's kinda nice." He rolled onto his back and just laid there, loose-limbed, for a few minutes with his eyes closed. He wanted to, well, not kiss the doctor, but at least say something nice to him, which was a miracle in and of itself. The man had skipped right to the heavy-hitters of the pain medication world and left orders for morphine. The sudden shut off of pain was friggin' euphoric. "Not hurting? Better than sex." He felt the need to inform everyone of this.

They let him loll there for a few more minutes. Most people would look utterly graceless lying in a hospital bed doped up on enough medication that Dean was sure would have put most people into a coma. Alec didn't look graceless; he looked comfortably sprawled. Like a cat that somehow just took up the whole sofa. Alec, he realized, was not a human with some cat in the mix. The kid was as much cat as he was human. He sniffed at his food, sprawled like a feline, and flexed his fingers like he had retractable claws. Suzie was right.

Sam was still standing, stretching his legs, and watched Dean watch Alec and finally took the time to catalog the physical differences. Alec looked softer, at least while his mouth wasn't going off and ruining the illusion. The freckles that he and Dean shared stood out against Alec's currently pale skin, and his hair was a little longer. Alec's body looked almost unlived in. There were no visible scars either from hard living or just normal living, no calluses on his hands from long years of holding a gun.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." Alec cracked an eye open to peer at them.

"Hey, dude, I can just look in the mirror."

"Not as pretty."

"What does it say about my life that I actually miss spending most of my time with maladjusted jerks." Sam finally settled into another chair. He thought if he plunked himself back down in the easy chair he would fall asleep again.

"That you're a Winchester," Dean said.

XXXXX


	14. Interlude of sorts

You know, I swore I would never do this and here I go making a giant lier out of myself

_You know, I swore I would never do this and here I go making a giant liar out of myself. This is not actually a chapter. I haven't forgotten or burned out on the story. I am actively working on the newest chapter. I swear. Often graphically._

_But, because I hate these non-updates, I'm going to toss in what my mother always called a booby prize. It's better than nothing. Kinda._

_I've got a lot of little pieces of things from the 'Agents' 'verse floating around. Scenes that will never make it into the story due to pacing, or time continuity, or in some cases are set before the story starts or after._

_This is one of those little 'before' pieces. _

Written on 4/8/07

Christmas with the Cleavers, er, Moores

Jess stood at the kitchen sink and looked out the window into her parents' backyard. There were plates of cookies on the counter to her left and Christmas carols playing in the background. She could hear one of her uncles laughing at something her mother had just said. Her hair was held back with a headband that had these ridiculous little felt antlers on it. She should have been in the family room with everyone else, in front of the tree, but she stood at the kitchen sink, staring out at the snow covered backyard.

She was really staring as Sam's back. He was out there sitting on one of the swings hanging from the old swingset, his legs sprawled out in front of him because they were so long. He had a sleeve pulled over one hand instead of winter gloves and it was wrapped around the chain of the swing. He head was tilted to the side, leaning against the chain as well. She thought that maybe she should buy him winter gloves and a hat. His other hand was holding a cell phone to his ear. She had asked him once why he didn't own a real winter coat. He said that it would have been a waste of money because he could just wear more layers. Which is what he did. But she was going to buy him gloves anyway.

It was her brother who finally noticed that she was missing, and then figured out that she wasn't upstairs with her boyfriend making out. Parents catch you making out once and you're branded a criminal for life. "And why are you in here all by your lonesome when the eggnog and presents are in the living room?" He rested against the counter, back to the window. "And where's your new boything? The string bean."

"Sam. HHis name is Sam."

"Yeah, I know, but he's still a string bean. Where is he? Too much eggnog and stuck in the bathroom?" Brian asked, his tone joking, but the curiosity real. "Did we frighten him off?"

"Yeah." She watched Sam dig a heel into the snow and push the swing back and forth a little. They had frightened Sam off. It was the only thing she could think of. Sam had been fine for the last couple of days, when it was just her and her parents and Brian. He had seemed hesitant and almost shy in the beginning, which was unlike him, but she hadn't worried too much because it had worn off quickly. But today, when her relatives had started pouring in and things had just gotten louder and more crowded, Sam had started to pull back. He had tried to stay on the fringe of things, and she had seen him do that before. He would stay on the fringes and watch, and then, eventually, he would either disappear or throw himself in and act like everyone else.

This time he hadn't been able to do that. Every time he drifted back, someone would draw him forward with innocent questions about what he was going to school for, how he had met Jess, what was his family like, did he have siblings, what were they doing this Christmas. Sam only answered the ones about school and Jess, and side-stepped the others with the skill of a fully trained lawyer. Then he would try and fade to the fringes.

Eventually, she figured he had just melted down or something. He had pressed his back to a wall when no one had been looking, his eyes a little too wide, swallowed hard, and disappeared. She found him sitting outside, with his cell out.

"Yeah? We actually scared him away? You sure you want to keep someone like that, Jess? It's not like we're a scary family."

"With the amount of spiked eggnog Aunt Jill has drunk?" Jess said with a laugh.

"Well . . . you know. It's Jill. Seriously, where's your string bean?"

"Outside." She nodded at the window.

Brian turned and watched Sam wobble back and forth on the swing, no winter gear, cell pressed to his ear, head resting like he was tired. "What the hell is he doing? Trying to catch pneumonia?"

Jess shrugged. "He does stuff like that. I asked once why he doesn't have a winter coat and he told me it would be a waste of money since he could always wear more layers."

"He's a little odd. I mean, I didn't want to say anything, but . . ."

She snorted. "You don't know the half of it. Hell, **I** don't know the half of it."

"Maybe we should go get him."

She shook her head. "He'll come in when he's sorted himself out and figured out what to do with us." She would wait for him. After all, wasn't tall, dark, handsome and mysterious every girl's dream?


	15. Chapter 14

_Author's note: So, this is the shortest chapter in the history of how much I hate this chapter. I mean seriously. Hate it. This is the second time I've written it and I still want to flush it down a toilet. But enough is enough. _

_So here it is. Short, but better than nothing. I hope._

_Just . . . I dunno, don't stop readying because I suddenly seem to suck? I promise I wont suck next time._

_Proofreader's note: This chapter doesn't suck. Ignore her. Also, I took the last couple lines of the last chapter and repeated them here, since otherwise it's been so long that nobody would remember what they're talking about._

Chapter Fourteen

"What does it say about my life that I actually miss spending most of my time with maladjusted jerks." Sam finally settled into another chair. He thought if he plunked himself back down in the easy chair he would fall asleep again.

"That you're a Winchester," Dean said.

"It says you need therapy," Collin said, as he ambled in. Dean looked him over, head to foot and back again. Sneakers, jeans, and a black T-shirt that said 'Watchmen' in bright yellow block letters. A badge hung from a blue lanyard around his neck, proclaiming him to be a doctor working at the hospital. Dean was willing to bet cash money that this was the outfit that had been stashed on the bottom of the bookshelf, but everything was well worn enough that the clothes didn't hold the creases from where they'd been folded.

Sam just rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. Dean was counting this as a double win. Alec hadn't gone straight to red alert and baby brother was showing signs of life. He did have to admit to being curious as to how the doctor could get away with dressing like that in his work place. He had given the man a heads up on the lab coat, but he sure hadn't expected a wardrobe shift. "Dress down day, Doc?"

"Actually, smartass, it's my day off. The badge keeps security from mistaking me for a bum and tossing me out." He closed the door most of the way, grabbed a chair, and carried it to where they had set up camp around the bed near the window. "When I'm done here, I'm going home and having a beer." Collin set the chair down, back facing Alec, who was sprawled, loose-limbed, across the bed under his pile of blankets. He looked over at the monitors they had on him before straddling the chair. He wrote everything down on a post-it note and stuck it to the front of Alec's chart. Everything looked a hell of a lot better than it had the previous night, and he was glad that Alec hadn't tossed the oxygen. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh . . . not hurting, so at the moment, roughly like eleven million bucks." Alec watched as they all blinked at him. "Half of what I'm normally worth?" They were still missing the train. "Like shit. I feel like shit, but it could be worse. I could feel like shit and hurt. God, are you guys slow? I'm the one that's got a head full of bad genes, loose wiring, and a bloodstream filled with lead. Get with the program." He tried to sit up and failed. Miserably. He felt like a helpless kitten suddenly, with everyone focused on him, not being able to help himself. His lip curled up on one side in a tiny snarl.

"Christ, kid, who ran over your tail?" Dean asked as he help him sit up, wondering a little at the sudden mood shift. It was like living with a fourteen year old Sam again.

"I'm twenty-some-odd million dollars worth of trained efficient deadly weaponry. I don't do helpless well." Alec winced mentally. The morphine was making him a little more loose-lipped than he liked. "Also? I'm fucking _starving_." As soon as he thought about it, his stomach started to tie itself into painful knots. Just because he could go without food for a week didn't mean he didn't pay for it in other ways, or that he enjoyed it.

"That I think we can fix." Doc Collin motioned for Dean to hand him the room phone. Dean shrugged an forked it over. "What do you want?" Collin asked Alec. The kid looked honestly startled at the question.

"Food? I thought that's where this was going."

"Yes, but what food?" Doc Collin looked like he was wondering real hard about what he had done wrong when Alec's eyes widened.

"Okay. Let's start simple." Dean knew exactly what was wrong. One look at Alec and he had the problem sorted. The kid had never been given the choice of what to eat before. Even after they got him out. Dean had brought home sandwich stuff; Alec made sandwiches. Bobby cooked eggs and bacon and gave the kid a plate and he ate eggs and bacon. He remembered this lesson from Sam, though Sam have been about four when the concept of 'choices' had come up. Give him too many and he couldn't deal with the overload. "Breakfast food or lunch?" He would take things one step at a time.

"Lunch." Alec was sure. Lunches usually came with more food.

"Sandwich it is, then. Have any preference as to what kind?" Dean watched as Alec shook his head a little. That might have been relief he saw. Dean knew he would have to keep an eye on Alec, to make sure he didn't get lost in what for him was likely the ridiculously complicated task of living out here like a normal person

Doc Collin dialed a number and waited. "Yes. This is Dr. Bishop. I need a lunch tray sent up to room 407. Whatever the cafeteria lunch special is . . . yeah." Dean made a questioning noise. "Can you hang on a sec?" He put his and over the receiver and looked at Dean.

"What's the lunch special?"

"A Rueben." He shrugged. "They're pretty good here."

"Gimme the phone." He only had to glance at Alec to know that the kid had no idea, on this or any other planet, exactly what was in a Rueben or what it would taste like. He took the phone. "Hi. Yeah. I'm the big brother. Screw the Rueben. Here's what the kid wants. Four ham n' cheese sandwiches . . . yeah, four. On wheat bread, cheese on the side, leave the sandwiches dry. One PB an' J, white bread." He looked at Sam for second then. "A bag of chips . . . yeah, just one. Couple of pieces of fruit. Whatever you have, apples, oranges, whatever . . . yeah, seriously, he eats a ton. Two cartons of milk. Two orange sodas and a Coke." Dean grinned suddenly. "You caught me. I am stealing from the tray. The Coke is for me." After another moment, he hung up.

"Lunch is on its way." Dean shot a small grin at Alec, who sighed and settled comfortably back into his pillows. He wondered when Alec was going to crash and fall back to sleep. Sam and the doc were gaping at him. "What? I've seen him eat. He was just being polite at Bobby's." He shrugged. Alec matched the motion, though barely, like he was afraid it might hurt. Most likely smart. The morphine would cut the pain, but the reason for it was still there.

Collin noticed the slight hesitation. "Is your shoulder still bothering you?" He had thought about having Alec's arm put in a sling, but had given up the idea after watching Alec worry at the things already confining him, like the IV and the heart monitor, even while unconscious. Suzie said that Dean had spent a lot of the night sitting by Alec's bed and soothing him into staying calm.

"I'll be fine."

"That's not what I asked." Collin stood and took a spare pillow out of the closet tucked into the corner of the room behind the easy chair. "Put this in your lap and rest your arm on it. It'll take some of the pressure off." Normally, he would have helped to arrange the pillow and the patient, but with Alec, he figured it was better to keep his hands out of the kid's personal bubble. He handed the pillow to Dean, who plopped it unceremoniously against Alec's legs and lifted his arm up and onto it with the care necessary, but without bothering to ask permission. At least Alec trusted someone.

Collin plunked himself back onto his seat. He figured they might as well get to the hard part. "Alec, are you feeling up to answering some questions?" he asked. Dean approved of the way the man was handling things. Saying something like 'I need you to answer some questions' would take away Alec's right to refuse, and Dean didn't want him feeling trapped.

"Depends on the questions." Alec picked at the wrapping around his hand and IV, and then he followed the line of tubing up, like he was deciding whether he could tolerate its presence or not.

The doc watched Alec. "I get that you don't like it."

Alec snorted. "I doubt that."

Dean, on impulse, ran a hand through Alec's short hair. "No, I doubt we do either, but I won't let anyone hurt you." He smirked. "You're a Winchester, kid. Trust me." Being overtly touchy-feely was not normally a Winchester thing, but he would change that if he needed to. The kid was a ball of mixed signals. He hated being touched by almost everyone, but Dean was willing to lay money that he craved contact, since it seemed to calm him. Dean would make sure he got it.

He and Sam didn't go in for overt contact, but that was because they had never needed to. They had grown up crammed next to each other like sardines in a can shaped like a '67 Chevy Impala, cheap motel rooms, and postage stamp apartments. The person he trusted most in the world was never really more than a breath away. When he was younger, he had wondered how normal kids could tolerate the sort of separation that seemed so commonplace between them and their siblings, to not have that sort of implicit trust in someone else. Now he could only imagine Alec growing up with even less.

"We'll start with the basics." Collin figured he would start simple and work his way up from there until he hit a brick wall. "Do you have any allergies?"

"Yes."

Clearly he was going to have to go with gentle prompting every step of the way. "What are they?"

"Oh." Alec said it like he hadn't quite realized he was supposed to continue answering. "Acetaminophen, aspirin, and chocolate."

"Dude, you're allergic to chocolate?" Dean was horrified. "Your rights to be my clone have been revoked."

Alec wrinkled his nose at Dean, but apparently didn't feel that comment merited any other response. Dean huffed, and Sam cracked a grin.

"So what happens when you have any of those things?" Collin continued. "Hives, breathing problems?"

"Hah. Oh, I wish. The chocolate just makes me sick, you know, pukey. Violently so, but that's it."

"What about the other two?" Collin prompted

"I'm gonna hate this, aren't I?" Dean guessed fatalistically.

"Well, I sure as hell did," Alec said. "Horking up blood. Definite organ damage. Pain like nothing I can even begin to describe. Un-friggin-fun." He shrugged his uninjured shoulder like it was no big deal. "Then the . . ." Collin watched as Alec swallowed whatever word he was going to say and replaced it with another. "The doctors in Med Lab said to avoid ingesting either ever again." The word 'doctor' came out of Alec's mouth like it was the ugliest insult he could think of. "Like I'm not a genius, right? And couldn't have figured that one out for myself."

Collin watched all three of them carefully, trying to sort out Alec's decidedly odd response. Sam looked like he couldn't decide between being ill, being angry, or being frightened.

Dean's gazed shifted from Alec to Sam and back again, and his jaw clenched. He felt something ugly boil up through him. "They did it on purpose, didn't they. Nearly killed you just to . . ."

"Just to find out what would happen," Sam whispered. His eyes locked down on his own bruised wrists.

Dean wasn't even sure he understood the rage that moved through him, because he was pretty sure he couldn't comprehend that kind of monster. It was sick. And wrong. Midnight uglies may do some wholly evil things, but at least they had the excuse of truly being things of nightmares, whose purpose was to do those things. There was no excuse for a human.

"Don't be stupid," Alec snapped. "They had a list of things they suspected we would have an adverse reaction to. They needed to know which ones hit us and if we'd live through it."

Dean thought Sam looked green. He knew he sure as shit _felt_ green, because Alec had just justified his own torture. And that was the only thing it could have been, if Alec termed the pain as indescribable. Dean knew for a fact that the kid had a phenomenal pain tolerance, given that he had been shot without making a peep and had the bullet taken out with almost as much silence. Doc Collin seemed to have chosen the route of silent stoicism.

"Stop it," Alec snarled. Dean's head snapped around to look at Alec again. The kid had hunched down into himself and his fingers flexed and then clenched down into his blankets. "I know what I am, or at least what I used to be before you stole me. But you I _did_ steal me, so you have to take all the bad along with whatever good you think you're getting. You can't fucking tweak out over everything."

"What?" Dean asked, like he couldn't believe the words that were falling out of his brother's mouth.

"Stop giving me that look." Alec gave Dean a narrow-eyed look and lifted his chin in a manner that was so like Sam that Dean swallowed, trying not to think about all the years of Alec growing up that he missed, or what had happened to him during that time.

"What look?"

"The horrified pity look."

"I don't have a look like that." Did he? He had thought his poker face was pretty good.

"Wearing your face. Remember?"

"Alec, they tortured you." Sam's voice was quiet as he threw himself into the verbal fray.

"No, they tortured _you_. What they did to me was just the way things work."

"Nice try with the distraction technique there, Little Toaster." The kid was good. Dean would give him that. If anything was going to throw him off Alec's tail, it would be bringing up Sam. "Becuase I've already filled the good doctor in." Dean pretended he didn't see or feel Sam's glare, and flashed Alec his most obnoxious smile.

"Crap." Alec bit at his bottom lip for a second. "Look, if you can't stomach the answers, then don't ask the questions." The look that Dean saw shot his way could only be interpreted as challenging. He was a little startled when it was Doc Collin that cut them all off.

"I'll stomach whatever I have to, if you'll answer my questions."

"I'm not here to indulge your curiosity." Alec's eyes narrowed, and his chin came up again. Dean really doubted that Alec realized how much he picked up from this little exchange, at least when combined with what he had already seen. Strangely, Dean thought that the kid's knee-jerk fear and defiance might be a good thing.

Alec was terrified of doctors, because he had clearly been hurt by them. This was a kid who had been willing to blow his own brains out rather than have to face whatever happened in Psy-Ops. Just like Alec had pointed out, they shared a face, and the kid hadn't been bluffing. But Alec had also toed the line and folded pretty quick when that blonde dude had shown up. If Alec was still snarling at them now, it might mean that he trusted them not to hurt him. All they had to do was not abuse the trust.

Collin was not an idiot. Sam was clearly not pleased with his big brother's loose lips. Not that Collin hadn't had to use a crowbar to pry anything out of Dean. Sam, in Collin's humble opinion, wanted to pretend that none of this had happened. He would take a crack at Sam later. Right now he had to get Alec sorted out, and he had to tread very carefully to do it. Sam was right. Alec had been tortured.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious." Alec's lip started to curl up into a snarl. Dean's eyes narrowed, but Sam just directed a dry look at his brother. He still had Sam's trust, and after a moment Dean relented. "But you're right. You aren't here to indulge it. You're here so we can get your epilepsy under control, and then you can go sprinting for the door." The lip was still curled up, but no sound followed. No snarl, no growl. If he was dealing with a werewolf, this would mean he had been granted a hearing, at least. Not acceptance, but a chance to talk. So he took it. "And to do that I have to ask questions, and," he chose his words carefully, "answering as honestly and completely as you can will make me more efficient."

He watched Alec turn all of this over in his head. "I want you to explain things to me. And . . ." He worried at his bottom lip again. "And don't do or give me anything without my permission." Collin snuck a look over as Sam, who was looking just a tad spooked.

"Sounds fair to me. Though, is it okay for your brothers to make decisions if you can't?" He didn't want to ask the question, because he was afraid all of Alec's defenses would snap up and close, but Alec wasn't always capable, and the caveat had to be set.

He was grateful that Dean chose then to throw himself into the breach. "Kid, seriously. Last night, you were God damned out of it. We did right by you didn't we?"

Alec nodded. Crisis averted. Then he suddenly perked up, then grinned. "Lunch." He sat up properly, and a second later someone from the kitchen stepped into the room carrying a bloated tray, giving everyone a funny look.

"Lunch for three?" The guy asked dryly.

"Screw them. They can get their own lunch." Alec snatched a sandwich before the tray was even settled. Collin nearly laughed as he peeled it open on one side and sniffed it, before taking a huge bite.

The cafeteria worker shook his head.. "Should we expect this at every meal?"

"No," Alec said around a mouthful of food.

Dean snorted. "Yes."

"I don't _have_ to eat this much. I can, you know, be normal." The sandwich was already half gone. Like a magic trick.

"Uh huh. Don't doubt it, kid. Doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with it." He reached out and sorted through the food, then rolled up a piece of cheese. Alec swatted at him. Dean swatted back and crammed the cheese into his mouth. After a moment, he found the white bread sandwich and grabbed it, along with one of the orange sodas. Both items were dropped in Sam's lap. The guy from the caf shook his head and left.

Sam jumped as the cold soda settled against his thighs. His reaction time was in the toilet. "Dean!" He grabbed it and the sandwich right before they slid to the floor.

"Eat."

"Not hungry." It might have been possible for Sam to sulk more, but it would have required a college course and a detailed instruction manual.

"Don't care." Dean's grin was obnoxious.

Sam looked over at Collin. "Don't look for help from me. You look like shit. Eat the sandwich, drink your sugar." He paused while Sam scowled. "Then plunk your ass on that other bed and sleep."

Sam's eyes skipped to Alec, who was working on his second sandwich. Apparently Dean had made the right call about his calorie intake. "Dude, don't look at me. I'm drugged up and unreliable." Alec grinned, and it was frighteningly similar to Dean's.

"You all suck." Sam pouted but cracked opened the soda.

Collin watched, fascinated, as Alec sniffed. "What's that?" He sniffed again. "It smells good. What is it?" He looked like a five year old with a new toy.

"It's orange soda, kiddo." Dean held up the second can. Collin was impressed yet again by the young man. Alec was clearly new to what most of them thought of as basic food. Looking at what Dean had ordered, it could be assumed that Alec grew up on a healthy, wholesome food. Collin thought that personally he might rather die of starvation. Here Dean was, introducing him to the regular world, one food item at a time.

"It doesn't smell like oranges." Now Alec sounded suspicious.

"Doesn't taste like them either." He held the can out to Alec, who took it with a grin and cracked it open. He sniffed again and then took a sip.

"This is awesome." He sipped it from the can carefully, savoring it.

"Uh, kiddo, most people aren't that careful with things they like."

Alec blinked at Dean. "They aren't? But shouldn't you be? Who knows when you'll get more."

"At dinner." Dean stated flatly. Collin watched Dean's carefully neutral expression, and realized he couldn't imagine what Alec's childhood had been like or what other normal things he'd been denied.

"So why didn't you want any of my Coke?"

Alec wrinkled his nose up. "It'll eat through metal. I'm not drinking it."

Collin couldn't help laughing. "He's got a point."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean took a long swallow of his soda.

Alec put his can of soda down again and poked at the chips. "What're these? I mean, I can read, but _are_ they?" Alec canted a curious look over at Dean.

"Deep fried crack with salt."

"You're a little weird. You know that, right?"

"Says the kid that doesn't know what chips are."

"Uh huh." Alec opened the bag and then sniffed them, almost delicately. Collin thought the kid might lose his mind if he ever got a head cold. About halfway through the bag, Alec fell asleep, chin to his chest. Dean snorted and carefully laid him down into his nest of pillows and blankets. Sam took the bag of chips before they fell to the floor. He looked like he might eat them, but then he seemed to change his mind and closed the bag.

Dean stole the last sandwich and put all the uneaten cheese in it before taking a big bite.

XXXXX

Sifting through a mortal's mind was a lot like dumpster diving. A whole lot of garbage with the chances of finding something good pretty being damned near nonexistent. On top of that, the average human mind was about as orderly as a bag of trash. Azazel figured that maybe he should consider himself lucky that this mind wasn't that disorganized.

Her thoughts did keep slipping from his grasp like a squirming cat, though. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, he knew what was in the makeup of an X5, but he hadn't honestly thought that they would think like a cat. Nor that they would fight so hard.

Apparently the animal reacted with an instinctive fear of the supernatural, and the X5 had gotten a couple of good solid blows in before he could stop her. They really were extraordinarily fast. He had the girl pinned firmly now though as he idly flipped through the thoughts she was aware of and then dug deeper for things she wasn't so aware of. There were little packets of mental programming and things she'd forgotten, but nothing like what he was after. There was no knowledge of enchantments in long forgotten languages or the whereabouts of the missing X5s from Alpha unit.

Azazel had only intruded on one of Sam Winchester's visions before he, Dean, and 494 had disappeared, but that one glimpse of the future had been more than enough to make him want to cut a swath of destruction across the continent until he found the female X5 he had seen in Sam's vision. One female X5 with dark hair and a spell written across her back that could royally fuck his shit up.

He wanted to find her, and almost more importantly, he wanted to find the person responsible for this. He wanted it done yesterday. Because he couldn't take that the easy route of just wiping out all the females that fit the description for two reasons. The first was that he couldn't find all the slippery things. Not with that devil's dozen still missing. The second was that even if he could find them all, he still didn't know who had the spell to scrawl it across the back of the young woman in the vision in the first place.

He was not going to have millennia of planning ruined by some catgirl with a tattoo written across the skin of her back. He had given humans weapons and the skills to use them. He wasn't going to have one turned against him now. When she slid from the wall, her blood spread wide around and beneath him. The fire spread even wider.

He left it burning as he walked away.

XXXXX

While Alec hardly existed at all in the hospital computer system, he still needed a chart, if only so Collin and the nurses could keep track of everything. The compromise was a good old-fashioned paper chart, complete with little separator tabs. While the chart was in the hospital it either lived in Collin's office, in his hand, or in the second drawer of Alec's bedside table, where his nurses could get to it. Once Alec was released, Collin would put it in the safe he kept in his apartment. The kid was a Winchester; Collin would be seeing him again.

On a hunch, Collin had looked up common feline allergies and poisons. Sure enough, acetaminophen, aspirin, and chocolate were all on the list, along with caffeine, alcohol, zinc, and a myriad of other less common things. So Alec had, to some degree, been lucky and only gotten three out of the list. None of them were so much allergies as outright body-destroying poisons. Collin decide he wouldn't share the details of what those poisons did with Sam or Dean.

He had gotten to talk with Alec again before dinner, and put together a few more pieces of his puzzle. Like the fact that the seizures might be due to possible damage from oxygen deprivation. He had drowned three times. Apparently, that was the penalty for failing the training exercise. Alec had been very sure that he could hold his breath under water for six minutes and twenty-four seconds. He was also very sure that a lot of water could be inhaled in thirty-six seconds, because the X5 standard was seven minutes, and they didn't get to come up for air until those seven minutes had passed. Alec had also grudgingly admitted that he handled each new attempt worse than the previous, until the final time he remembered only waking up three days later and being unable to breathe on his own.

It was almost needless to say that there had been numerous blows to the head. What really interested Collin was that the seizures seemed to have an emotional stress trigger as well. Not so much that stress induced a seizure, but that it made seizures much more likely. Alec had mentioned, hesitantly and with prompting from both Sam and Dean, that when he was in Psy-Ops there was always a team of medical staff assigned to him as well as psych, and that this was unusual. And that he always saw the same doctor, which was also unusual. He wouldn't tell Collin what Psy-Ops was or what happened there. It was the first true wall that he had run into with the young man. There was no coaxing anything out of him on the topic.

After that it had been a strangely normal litany of bullet wounds and broken bones. Collin knew there were still horror stories that Alec was simply refusing to divulge, but Collin let it go, knowing that Alec's tenuous trust only stretched so far.

He flipped back to Alec's bloodwork and sighed. He finished the cup of cold coffee and was pretty sure that no amount of caffeine was going to help him sort out why Alec was having seizures. And since he was still having them on occasion, Collin needed to know why, or they would never get the poor kid on effective medication.

What he really needed was an EEG while Alec was actively seizing, to tell him where in Alec's brain the problem actually was. Easy enough logistically, since Collin was pretty sure that Alec would seize within ten to fifteen minutes of being cut off from the IV medication. The hard part was going to be walking into the kid's room and saying something along the lines of 'I know this entire place scares the hell out of you, but I'd like to hook you up to a bunch of monitoring equipment that will most likely scare you even more, and then purposefully let you seize.' Not easy.

Collin's head thumped down onto Alec's chart and the empty paper coffee cup rolled out of his fingers, across his desk, and onto the floor. "This is so unfun."

XXXXX

Lydecker very rarely ever saw one of his X5s shed a tear. Tears were the product of strong emotions, and he tried very hard to teach them not to feel anything that strongly outside the bounds of their units. In the real world, beyond the confines of Manticore, those emotions could be used as a weapon against them. It was also equally as rare to see one show fear, let alone actually shake with it.

And yet X5-328 did both. He had returned from his mission early and noticeably without X5-413. Lydecker had to admit that he was having trouble deciphering the series of events from the X5's hysterical babbling. He had managed to sort out that 413 was dead, that there would be no body to find, and that she hadn't been killed by anything having to do with the mission.

After that, things degenerated. He had asked for a description, and 328 had given him a jumble of feelings and scents, but couldn't seem to coherently put together a physical description. It was like the X5 was talking in cat thoughts. The Colonel had a headache. A huge one. There was some unknown person and/or military force out there capable of taking out an X5 easily. This was more than a problem. This was a disaster of epic proportions. And he couldn't do a damned thing about it until he had something to work with.

Eventually, he cut off the babble with a raised hand. If he couldn't get the unit to think like a human, he would have to get a translator. He stepped out of the briefing room and waited for Delta Unit's commander to answer his summons. Renfro appeared moments before the X5 in question showed up. The colonel felt his headache grow to alarming proportions. He ignored the woman in favor of talking to Delta's commander. "I need you to calm your teammate down and get me a physical description of the person that killed X5-413." The X5 nodded once, sharply. 413 was, mercifully, from Charlie Unit, so Delta's commander didn't have a strong emotional attachment to her. "Then take him back to his quarters. Someone else can sit with him if you think it will help. Once that is done, report to me and tell me what you can get from him. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The unit gave Lydecker a sharp salute and entered the briefing room.

"He should be taken to Psy-Ops to sort out whatever shorted in his brain," Renfro stated.

"I didn't ask your opinion on the matter." He and Renfro both watched through the one-way window as one X5 sat across the other and began speaking.

The only thing that 328 had said to him about the mysterious killer that had made even the least bit of sense was that the killer had smelled like sulfur.

XXXXX


	16. Chapter 15

_A/N: OMG OMG did she finally update? SHE DID! Are all of her prompts for her muse journal going to be late this month? THEY ARE! Does she care?! Actually she does a bit, because the mods might kick her and her poor abused Alec out. Crazy people, following rules._

Why is Karasu referring to herself in third person? She has no clue!

Why is she abusing exclamation points? It amuses her.

She would like to apologize for taking six months to get the chapter out and for any coronary incidents that happened as a result of the sudden appearance of said chapter.

Chapter Fifteen

It wasn't an area of the hospital meant for patients. Hell, it didn't look like it was meant for anyone but brass, and sure as shit not for one guy in a combination of civvie clothes and hospital chic. He was padding around in bare feet – screw socks, they were a recipe for disaster if he needed to move fast, needed to have traction – his own cargo pants, and one of those stupid hospital smock tops. It was a concession he had had to make in deference to the IV and pole he was still toting around with him. Normal shirts and IV catheters just were not a couple that would dance together.

They had all looked at him funny when he had flatly refused to wear the blue smock that Susie had brought him that morning. He wasn't explaining and he wasn't budging on it. No one needed to know that it reminded him far too much of Manticore Medical and Psych. Of his helpless childhood. He just out-waited them until they had come up with one that was tan with stupid little triangles.

His restlessness seemed to actually please Doc Collin. It had always pissed off the monsters back home, so he was totally floored when he was told and even encouraged to walk around. As long as he had company, of course. That wasn't going to be a problem. He thought he might honestly puke from anxiety if he ended up somewhere in this place alone. He had never realized how afraid he felt around medical until he had been allowed to feel it. Interesting how that worked. He wasn't sure he was ready for whatever else was hiding in the dark of his mind, but there was no point in buying trouble.

He was fine for now. Sam and Dean were only a yard or so behind him. He could still smell them, so he had time alone without being alone. He may have been in a place not meant for patients, but he wasn't phased, and moved through the hall with a combination of pure feline arrogance and training that showed him how to fit in anywhere from city slums to the dinner tables of royalty.

Then he saw her, and the rest of the world could go hang. His hand went up and tangled in the long black leather cord tied around his neck. Dean had given it to him that morning, along with the gold locket. The older man hadn't said a word, just shrugged and moved on to stealing Alec's breakfast. Alec had quietly and gratefully taken the locket off its broken chain and slipped it onto the cord, knotted the ends, and slipped it over his head and under the stupid triangle printed smock. He gave the chain back to Dean, who just slipped it into his wallet.

His other hand reached out and slid along the smooth black surface of the baby grand piano. "Hey, baby. Aren't you a pretty thing?" He circled until he came around to the keys. "Are they taking good care of you?" He tapped a middle C and then used a foot to hook the bench out and sit down. Once he had himself where he wanted, he ran through a scale. "Could be worse." He did it again, closing his eyes and tipping an ear.

He opened his eyes to see Dean leaning a shoulder into the wall nearby, watching him, Sam only a step behind. He decided he didn't care. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to think about the swamp of emotion and memory that came with seeing this baby. Memory that they had tried and failed to take, even though they had nearly killed him trying. He didn't want to think about how that locket felt suddenly heavy on its cord. He just wanted to tune this girl up and then slide his fingers over the keys.

He slid from the bench and back around to the side of the piano, nearly tripping over the IV, but just dancing around it on his short leash because he knew someone would throw a hissy if he got rid of it. He had won the battle over the sling for his shoulder. It hurt, but it was worth it for the freedom of movement he gained. He knew better than to push Dean's temper. In deference to that, he used his right hand to lift the lid of the piano and propped it open with his left. After a moment he reached in, found the wire he was looking for, and tweaked it tighter. Then he stretched out and reached around to tap the corresponding key. "Better." He repeated the process and smiled before moving on to start tuning the rest of the piano.

At this point his back was to his brothers, so he didn't see Sam's jaw drop. Nor did he see the man walking over to him with purpose, though he sure could hear him. First his footsteps, then his voice. "You can't do that."

"Sure I can, dude. I mean, clearly I can. Because I am."

"This piano is only here for functions."

"Just one, actually. Shut up a second." In the brief moment of stunned silence, he hit another key and tightened another wire.

"What?"

"She's only got one function. She's a musical instrument. They're kinda built to be one trick ponies, you know?" Alec heard Dean's amused snort and Sam's snicker.

"This piano is the property of this hospital and is not meant to be a toy to amuse patients. It is only to be handled by a professional."

She actually hadn't needed that much adjustment. Alec stood up to face the man. He was tall enough, though still shorter than Alec, thin, and too officious for his own good. Alec might have understood the possessive indignation if the piano had belonged to him, but she didn't. The only thing that belonged to this man was his own ego. Suddenly Alec was tired. He wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone's crap. He just wanted to play for a while and be left alone. "Then shut the hell up and leave me alone." The look he shot the man was the same one he had used to silence a ranking military officer when he was done screwing around. The pencilneck didn't stand a chance.

He settled back onto the bench, ignored the ache in his shoulder and the way the Ace Bandage and IV annoyed him. The first thing that flowed from his fingers was Grande Valse Brillante, without his even thinking about what he wanted to play. He was almost two minutes through the piece when it shattered to halt with a discordant rattle. No more Chopin. He had learned to hate Chopin.

Prokofiev most likely wasn't the most intelligent thing to start off with, since he hadn't played in well over a year. It also wasn't an intelligent thing to play with one hand having its full span hampered by pulling tape and wrapping. But that was why he picked it. It was something that would currently be difficult and would take concentration.

After that he just let himself move from piece to piece and composer to composer without real thought. There was a certain amount of freedom to it. No one at Manticore had ever just left him alone to play.

He opened his eyes, honestly startled when his fingers became tangled and he botched up. He looked at his hands like they had betrayed him, which they had, in a way. He played again. And botched again. This time his hands shook. Before he could do much but glare, Dean's hand closed around his wrist. "Okay, Mozart. I think you've had enough."

Alec shook his head. "No. I messed up."

"Yeah. I get that, Little Toaster. Your hands are shaking and you look a little pasty. Those girly freckles of yours are standing out real nice."

"You have freckles too." Somehow he thought that out of all the things to be said, that might be near the bottom of what he should have come up with.

"Yeah, but mine aren't girly, kid."

"Where's Sam?" Alec blinked at Dean's hand. It looked like his. Maybe it was. Things were suddenly a little fuzzy. Things like his head.

"He went on ahead to let Doc Collin or hot nurse of choice that it looks like you're getting ready to do an amazing impression of a dashboard wobbly-headed doll or a washing machine."

"Oh." Alec thought about that for a minute. "I don't feel very good."

"You don't look so good, either. Maybe because I'm the pretty one." Alec felt an arm slide around his waist and a hand tuck up under his elbow and then suddenly he was standing. "Think you can walk if I wrangle your skinny girlfriend?"

"What?" Alec blinked at Dean.

"The IV pole, kid. Come on." Dean unwrapped his arm from around Alec's waist. After a little shuffling, he got one hand on Alec's elbow and the other towing the IV pole along.

Alec was, quite frankly, a little bothered. His head usually wasn't this foggy, unless someone had drugged him. Which they were. He was almost upset and then remembered that Dean wouldn't let anyone hurt him. At least from the outside.

Didn't change much on the inside, though. He was still full of sharp things that he didn't think should be there. Shouldn't be broken. "Careful," he said, and Dean gave him a questioning look. "You'll cut your fingers on the glass."

"What glass?" Dean had them walking along carefully.

"Between my bones." He could feel it. Grinding and stabbing. Between every joint. With every step.

"Right." Dean smiled at the next person he saw wearing scrubs. "Just the person I was looking for." The poor man looked baffled, but Dean didn't seem to care. "I kinda need a wheelchair here."

"Sir . . . ?"

"Look, my brother's having a seizure. Wheelchair? Before his knees give?"

"M'fine," Alec muttered, but then shivered hard. Dean wrapped an arm tight around his waist then, to keep him from going down.

"Uh huh."

Alec looked over at Dean, head resting against the man's shoulder. "You're taller than me. 'S not fair."

"Get used to it, kiddo." The startled guy in scrubs was back and Dean was pushing Alec down in the wheelchair the guy had supplied. "You're the shortest Winchester." Alec felt himself shiver again and gave the hovering scrubs guy a narrow look. He didn't like the guy looking at him.

"S'okay. 'M taller than Biggs." They were moving again.

There was Biggs again. Dean was pleased to have confirmation that it was definitely a person. "Who's Biggs?" He looked down at Alec and walked them both quickly back up to the kid's room. The mysteries were just piling up.

"Brother."

"Yeah? By blood? I gotta bust someone else out?"

"He got me out." After a minute, Alec offered up: "Not blood. Doesn't matter."

Dean didn't like the short answers he was getting. The kid wasn't normally what one would call laconic. And only Sam would use that word out loud to describe anyone. "You having trouble breathing again, kid?"

"Maybe a little?"

"Uh huh."

Yeah, Dean didn't like this one bit.

XXXXX

There was one thing that CeCe wanted out of life right now. Just one thing. It would make the whole day worth it. Make the slightly restrictive business suit tailored to her to politely conceal a gun okay. And the heels, too. And the little barrettes that pulled her hair back.

Starbucks.

Something big, in an actual ceramic mug. With whipped cream, chocolate, and coffee. In that order. And excessive amounts of each. Especially the chocolate. There was, of course, none in Manticore aside from what was available for testing. In the beginning, when she'd been younger, she had felt guilty that something that had made some of her sibs so ill had been nothing but pleasure for her.

She'd quickly gotten over it when she had found a tiny bar of it in one of her MREs while on a field mission. She also felt not a twinge of guilt when she'd stolen Kip's bar as well. It wasn't like he was going to eat it.

It was her reward for good behavior. If she smiled pretty and didn't murder her charge or any of the people around him, the Colonel had said that she could have ten dollars out of the cash she had been supplied with and an hour alone off the leash to enjoy whatever it could buy her.

As it turned out, her charge was a perfectly tolerable foreign dignitary. She was his bodyguard. Nothing too horrible. Small talk in private, get him to and from where he needed to go for the next few days, and then back home safely. No problem. Right now he was under the care of Secret Service and she was officially off the clock for just a little while.

She wouldn't need long to find a Starbucks. This was Washington D.C. As far as she could tell, the government ran on four things: ego, money, military might, and a solid ton of people that didn't get any credit for keeping those other things moving smoothly. Those people ran on coffee.

She was already scanning the street for a place when she felt the gun press into her back and a casual arm wrap around her shoulders from behind to give the gun holder an excuse to be that close. She shuddered, a horrible feeling flooding through her as soon as he pressed into her personal space.

Her body coiled, tight, ready to fight but wanting to run. She was too well-trained for that., and too much of a bitch to give in to it. It wasn't the gun that was pressed into her lower spine with practiced and professional calm that frightened her. Guns didn't frighten her.

This was something else. Something that crawled up her spine from the inside, burning cold. Her lip curled up in something that might be considered a smile if you didn't know better. Most people didn't. It was a bit of a smile, but it was the kind that would make a person back away if they had seen it on the tiger that was hidden in her DNA.

"Don't think that these heels mean I can't kick your ass." Her tone was even and casual and she walked where he directed without complaint. Maybe she would drive one of the heels into his eye, just for frightening her. And for getting between her and her froofy coffee.

There was a reason she was often picked for bodyguard duty. Part of it was appearances. Women seemed less like a threat or a show of power. The other reason was that she didn't need a weapon. Out off her entire unit, she was the best as hand-to-hand combat. All she needed was for the danger to be within arms' reach.

So for now she went along with things. She sniffed and then sneezed. "You roll in matches this morning?"

"Shut it and walk."

She did. Even his voice bothered her. Maybe it was the way that there seemed to be nothing unusual about it at all, but it gave her the creeps. Fur she didn't have was trying to stand on end.

They rounded the building and headed toward the back, where there was a van parked and an angry looking man dressed in a business suit waiting. They exchanged some sort of greeting in a language she didn't know. That was odd, since she spoke five languages fluently and had a passing acquaintance with three more. She decided that she wasn't getting into that van.

Faster than the eye could see, she spun to the side and grabbed the gunman's arm, pivoting in place. The momentum carried her attacker away from her to slam into the building's outside wall with bone-jarring force.

He merely grinned at her and twitched his fingers in a come forward motion. She took an involuntary step closer. CeCe didn't know how an Ordinary had come to have powers like some of the X0s that had been put down, but she wasn't letting the mystery slow her down any. If he wanted her closer, that's what he was going to get.

She picked up the pace all on her own and slammed into the man like a freight train, leading with the heel of her hand. She was done screwing around. Her hand caught his chin and forced his head back with a sickening wet crunch of shattering bone as his neck broke.

She spun to face the man by the van, unsure of how he was going to take the rather timely demise of his cohort. That probably explained why she was taken so off guard when the broken-necked man grabbed her and pinned her arms to her sides with brutal force.

"Get it into the damned van before this gets out of hand," the angry man snapped. CeCe hissed and struggled, and when the hold on her tightened she gave a growling snarl when she couldn't get away. She had killed the man holding her. She knew she had. She didn't make mistakes like that. The other guy didn't even find it weird that she was being toted around by a dead man?

CeCe lifted and planted her shoes on the edge of the van as the dead man tried to shove her in. She used the heels to hook the edge so her feet wouldn't slide, but he shoved so hard that she had to either fold her legs up on her own or risk them being broken. She choose to avoid injury. No one should be this strong except another X5.

Once she was in the van, still being held tightly enough that she was losing feeling in her lower arms, the first man, the one that wasn't the walking dead, slapped a cuff around one of her wrists and then hooked the other half through a metal loop in the floor of the van. The seats had all been taken out. She guessed the loop was a mooring for one of the missing seats.

They both moved back out of her striking distance and she yanked at her trapped wrist. She felt her mouth open in horror when the links between the cuffs didn't separate. All she got was jolting pain all the way up to her shoulder. The fuckers had cuffs strong enough to hold her. She bared her teeth at them and yanked again anyway. She could get free if she was willing to break bones.

Both of her captors seemed amused at her struggle. The one that wasn't the walking dead left the van and slammed the doors closed. Her head whipped around when he settled into the driver's seat, shut that door as well, and started the van.

Her attention tracked back to the one that she had supposedly killed, and he grinned. She couldn't look away, even though the van had started moving and she wanted to see where they were headed. She felt herself shrink away from him when his eyes filled with black and his grin took on an edge that she didn't want to even be near. "Our master wants a word with you, kitten." He reached out a hand towards her face and she kicked him in the ribs for it, feeling the bones give under the pressure. The man's grin didn't waver. "He wants to know what's in your pretty little head."

"Shit!" The word was loud and startled and came from the driver's seat. CeCe turned and caught sight of a man standing in the road right before the van swerved to avoid hitting him.

That was when things got, if possible, even weirder and more frightening. The van's sudden swerve had carried them onto a ramp leading into a parking garage, and the speed they had been traveling at kept them moving forward despite the applied breaks. That wasn't weird. That was just physics

What was weird was when the man with the black eyes was yanked off of her by an invisible hand and slammed into the back doors of the van. The van jerking to a halt immediately afterwards and spinning like the black eyed man was a pivot point was frightening as fuck all. It was as if there was a line that the dead man couldn't cross and the entire van had been yanked around as a result.

There was no way that CeCe could lie to herself and pretend that she was anything other than terrified. The rear doors calmly opened from the outside and a pleased-looking older man in a sweater and jeans yanked the black-eyed man out, dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground before taking a few quick steps backwards. That didn't make CeCe feel any better.

The black-eyed man lunged and hit an invisible wall. "This won't stop him, you know. You can send me back and others will take my place."

"True. But you can serve as an object lesson."

"What the hell is going on?" This came from the driver as he came storming around to the back of the van.

"Hell being the operative word here, Ames. Good to see you, son." The older man smiled a little, like this was all perfectly normal.

"I'm not your son anymore," the driver growled, and stalked towards the older man.

"Don't cross that line." The older man pointed up, at something CeCe couldn't see.

"What the fuck is that?" Ames asked, looking up at the ceiling of the parking garage ramp.

"It's a devil's trap. Made for holding people like our friend here."

"I thought you were crazy before, leaving us to go and make these – " The driver's lip curled in disgust. " – these creatures." He gestured at CeCe.

"Yeah, fuck you too, buddy." She curled a lip up right back, some of the ice leaving her spine now that the black eyed man wasn't so close. She wished she could see the roof and this theoretical trap that had made the van spin.

"Ames, I want you to listen to me very carefully," the older man said. CeCe didn't think he was used to being disobeyed.

"I stopped listening to you a long time ago." With that, the driver, Ames, drew a gun and pointed it at the older man. CeCe had to admit she hadn't expected what followed: a quick struggle and the older man ending up with the gun.

"Fine, if you won't listen, then watch." The older man shot the black-eyed man in the heart.

CeCe snorted. "Won't matter. I already broke his neck." She was right. The dead man just stood back up and leered at them. It had at least shocked Ames. Apparently, he really hadn't noticed when she had killed him the first time.

"You can hate me all you like," the older man said, "but I know you care for your little boy. My grandson. This is what he's going to become if you don't open your eyes and start taking a look at what's going on. He'll be nothing but a meat suit for a demon." He lowered the gun. "It's true that we're bred to be better. But when the end comes we'll be nothing but bodies for them to use. I don't want that for you. Or for Ray. That's why I left. To find a way to stop it." After that he turned back to the twice-dead man and started speaking in a language that CeCe didn't know. The man started to scream. The words rose and fell in rhythm and she understood enough to know that they were religious.

The screaming man threw his head back, but it wasn't another shout that came out this time. It was smoke. Black, poisonous smoke. She cringed away from it. It was an instinct she couldn't fight. The man's body fell in a loose-limbed way that told her he was finally dead. The smoke swirled and then was sucked down through the ground. With it gone, she finally felt the fear leave her.

Ames was still standing silent, angry and stunned. The older man climbed into the van and started to fiddle with the lock on her cuffs. "You made us?" CeCe decided to focus on what she could understand.

"Yes. Well, not all of you personally, but yes." The cuff fell away from her wrist and he sat back a little to look at her.

"What's your name?" She was pretty sure she knew the answer, and indignant anger bubbled through her in anticipation of the confirmation.

"Malcolm Sandeman."

That was the answer she had thought she would get, but she wanted to be absolutely sure before she did anything. "You made 494. Personally. Right?"

"Yes, I did."

"Thought so." She punched him. Hard. Hard enough that he fell over. Hard enough that he fell out of the van. She knew that the man that had made 494 had been one of the people to mess with him later. He had been the man to take some of her brother's memories and his name. He'd had a good pop to the face coming for years.

Ames turned and raised his eyebrows at her and Sandeman. "Seems like you have a lot of fans today. Even your Frankenstein monsters are against you."

CeCe climbed out of the van and straightened her clothes. "Don't you fucking start with me. I've had about enough and I'm not above shoving one of my boot heels through your eye." Ames wasn't tall, and she looked him dead in the eye, a silent challenge.

Sandeman broke the battle of wills by stepping between them and actively blocking CeCe's view. "Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more civilized?"

"I want coffee and answers. Now." CeCe paused. "And I am so not cleaning up that body."

XXXXX

Dean perched on the windowsill. It wasn't nearly wide enough for him to actually plant his ass on comfortably, but he held himself there by bracing his feet against the arm of the easy chair. From here he could watch Sam, Alec, and the door through which he expected any number of people. The one he wanted to see the most was Doc Collin.

Sam was the elected kitten plushy of the hour and thus, as was his duty, was taking up space on the bed next to Alec. The most recent seizure and the medication to curb it had left Alec disoriented and prone to panic, so to save everyone some trouble, Sam and Dean had just taken turns sitting next to him. At least, that was what Dean had told Sam, but in reality his nefarious plan had worked out perfectly and Sam had fallen asleep ten minutes into his shift, getting some much needed rest.

It was a tight fit on the bed, but neither Sam nor Alec seemed to mind. Sam was sprawled out, having stolen one of Alec's pillows. The book he had been reading had long since fallen from his spidery thin fingers. The dark circles under his eyes were finally starting to lighten up a bit.

Alec, on the other hand, had curled into a ball about even with Sam's hip. They had bundled him up in blankets again without being asked. Dean had realized that the need for warmth wasn't about temperature after hearing some of the horrors that Alec had lived through. It was about safety. If he was warm then he was safe. Dean could see Alec's head where he was using Sam's thigh as a pillow, one hand sticking out from underneath the blankets. It was the hand with the IV line, and he had that thing to monitor his oxygen level clipped to his finger again. Dean was still trying to figure out how the laws of physics bent to allow the kid to fold himself into places that small. Alec's freckles still stood out too much against his pale skin, and he still had the oxygen tubing tucked under his nose, but at least he was peacefully asleep.

Dean ran a hand over his face. That morning, he had thought that maybe they had this seizure thing beat. Alec had been wound up tight and ready to go. He had been afraid that the kid was going to climb the walls until Doc Collin had informed them that if Alec wanted to explore then by all means let him.

It had been good to watch Alec when he was curious and cheerful instead of hurt and terrified. They had followed along behind Alec as he prowled along hallways, nosed into rooms, and peered around corners like a child playing spy. There was a sort of little boy glee about him as he had explored. In a fit of emotionality that he wouldn't admit to, Dean hoped like hell that they would see a lot more of that

Then there had been the piano. Alec had cozied right up to it the same way Sam threw himself at bookstores. It had been a hell of a show right from the beginning. Dean would admit he knew jack shit about the mechanics of a piano, but apparently Sam knew enough to know how one was tuned, and that to do it bare handed took the kind of hand strength that someone Alec's size had no right to have. Then had come the witty sniping at the administrator that proved that Sam really had named Alec well. The smart mouth was a permanent fixture. Their father had always said that Dean's smart mouth had come from their mother. Alec may have gotten that from Mary, but his temper seemed to be all John. He had shut that administrator down fast enough to impress a drill sergeant, and Dean made a mental note to never find out what happened when the kid was pushed past what he would tolerate.

Watching the kid play, though? Dean might not know a lot about the piano, but he knew good when he heard it. Alec was better than good. He also looked like he was stuck somewhere between bliss and pain when he played. Dean had been planning to ask him about it, or maybe about that gold locket, because it clearly meant a lot to Alec, just like the piano did. The most recent seizure had played merry hell with his plans.

It didn't help that Doc Collin had looked as worried as Dean had felt as he had dosed Alec full of God knew what to still the shaking. The doctor was never supposed to look worried. It was a cosmic rule or something. When the doctor looked worried, it was usually a signal to start with the panicking. Dean didn't approve of panicking.

Dean was about ready to give up the ghost and move his slightly numb rear from the windowsill to the easy chair to try and catch a nap. Supernatural evil he could deal with, but this whole medical emergency thing was going to drive him to start drinking heavily. It really wasn't a place he wanted to go.

XXXXX

"Look," Collin said about an hour later, in a manner that Dean felt was a little too final to be comforting, "it's like this. I tried to do this the quickest, and therefore possibly the dirtiest, way possible. I did it for a bunch of reasons. One, at the start you – " Here Collin pointed at Alec with his cheap disposable chopsticks – "were seizing too hard for me to think about any diagnostic criteria beside the two very basic facts that you were seizing and I had to stop it. Immediately if not sooner."

He paused to take a bite of his lo mein, and then shoved a carton of fried rice into Sam's empty hands. "Eat that or I'll let Dean force feed you." The look he snuck at Dean told him that big brother was more than happy to comply.

"Bad enough you got that emo hair, Sammy, but I refuse to be related to someone that's thin enough to be in a Calvin Klein ad." Dean kept staring until Sam wrinkled his nose and ate a mouthful of rice.

"Bully." A cubed carrot was flicked off Dean's forehead.

"Uh huh." Dean was clearly unimpressed by his brother.

Meanwhile, Alec was carefully dissecting and inspecting an egg roll. Collin watched as he poked a bit with his finger. "So," Alec said. The younger man didn't look up as he spoke, and Collin thought maybe it was to cover nerves. "What are you going to do to fix me now?"

It took Collin a minute to sort out what was wrong with that question. "I can't 'fix' you." Alec hunched in on himself and his inquisitive fingers stilled. "Epilepsy isn't something like that, Alec. All I can do is treat it. Try to make it easier for you, but . . ." He paused to make sure he found the right words, so he didn't frighten Alec back into the corner he was starting to come out from. "It's not like you have a faulty circuit that can just be replaced. Sometimes people are the way they are. We just have to learn to deal with it."

"We're not going to give you back or trade you in just 'cause you've got a couple of issues, kid," Dean added. "God knows if I was that picky I'd have given Sam back years ago."

"Jerk." There was another flying carrot.

"Bitch." The return volley was a pea.

"Okay," Alec said. Collin considered it a win that Alec was still willing to speak up. "If the stuff I'm getting now isn't cutting it – and I know it isn't 'cause I feel like shit – what are we going to do?"

Collin sighed. Now came the hard part. "What we really need to know is _exactly_ what kind of seizures you're having. Where they're coming from, and maybe what your brain is trying to do to itself while you have them. If I can sort that out, then I can stop hitting you with broad span medications and tailor things tighter to what will be useful to you."

"That – I – no. No. You can't do that to me." Alec pushed back away from them and into the bed.

Collin pushed back as well and pulled the table with him, not wanting Alec to hurt himself in his uncoordinated scramble. "Jesus, what did they do to you in that place?" he asked under his breath. He had known it would be a battle, but nothing he had said so far should have caused this kind of panic.

Alec just looked up at him with those wide kitten eyes while Dean tried to get a hold on him. Moments later, Dean was settled beside the young man, with an arm around Alec's waist and his wrists trapped in his other hand. "Okay. I promised I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. So just breathe." He shook Alec a little. "Breathe." Once he was satisfied, he looked up at Collin. "Exactly what are you suggesting?"

Collin sat back down but kept his distance, and blew out a sharp breath. "I want an EEG."

Sam, who had stiffened up like a board, relaxed a bit. "That's just an image thing. Right?"

"Mostly." Collin held up his hands to Alec. "Nothing invasive. No needles, no drugs. Nothing that will hurt you." He let out a breath when Alec stopped the feeble struggling against Dean.

"Then why haven't we done it before now?" Dean asked, as he slowly let go of Alec's wrists but noticeably kept an arm around the kid.

"Because it's an active image of his brain waves. I think the only way it'll tell us what we need to know is if he's having a seizure at the time." Collin looked Alec in the eye then. "I didn't want to have to let that happen to you on purpose. I don't want to do that to you. But I think it'll give us the answers that we need." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I won't do it without your permission. Dean and Sam can stay with you. No techs. Just me and if I need help, the nurses that you already know."

"Oh, Jesus, kiddo, don't pass out." Dean shook him a little again. Collin stopped himself from moving forward, knowing that it wouldn't help. Sam jammed a straw into one of the small milk bottles that the cafeteria had sent up and handed it to Dean. "Come on, take a drink. Take a deep breath."

A few deep breaths and swallows of milk later, Alec pushed it away. "God, I don't even like the stuff." His tone was bordering on a whine, but everyone in the room felt like cutting him some slack.

"Then why the hell do you drink it like there's gonna be a cow shortage?" Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

"The doctors say it's good for the shakes. To help stop them. Only thing that I'm allowed to have as much of as I want."

Collin could feel his brain latching on to that. Grabbing on hard. Questions started piling up faster than he could get them out. "Dean said he thought you hadn't been sleeping very well?" Alec shook his head. "And most of the time you can think pretty clearly while you're having a seizure, right? Like it's just in your body, not your mind." He got another nod. "I think I have an idea. A real one." He pulled out Alec's chart and a prescription pad and began to scrawl furiously. "Will you let me run some blood work? No EEGs for now. I'll just keep giving you what I am now, which seems to hold you as long as you stay in bed. Just let me do the blood work and if I'm right, that may be all we need to solve this."

"No creepy tests?" Alec asked, clearly testing the waters.

"Not if I'm right. I'd really rather this be the answer."

"What do you think the answer is?" Sam's tone was earnest and curious.

"Serotonin. A vial of blood and a couple of hours will tell me if I'm right."

"Isn't that one of those things that keeps you from being depressed?" Dean didn't sound convinced.

"Yep. It also helps you sleep and controls your reflexes. It's pretty useful stuff." He shifted his attention to Alec. "Can I have that vial of blood?"

"If it gets me the fuck out of here, then yes."

"I'll get one of the nurses to come in and draw it." Collin stood, but stopped when he saw the wary look on Alec's face. "Trust me when I say you'd rather have one of them do it. They're _way_ better at it than I am." He didn't move until Alec nodded, casually walked out the door, and broke into a jog. He wanted this done before Alec changed his mind.

XXXXX

Sam decided to take a walk, just to stretch his legs and kill some time until Alec's lab results came back. One of the real downfalls of being 6' 4" was that a lot of places became cramped when you could cross the entire room in four or five long steps.

He had gotten used to it, though. So had his friends. It wasn't unusual to see him slowly pacing up and down the hall of his dorm building while reading, or taking up the entire sofa in the lounge because he got sick of folding himself into a pretzel to fit on his bed. Bad enough that his feet hung off of it anyway.

And hey, he even got to perform a rescue. About four rooms down from Alec there was a bawling child and a nurse who almost walked into him. She looked up, and up. Then she grinned. "Just the person I needed."

"Huh?" Sam felt his eyebrows climb in confusion. He thought maybe he could give himself a break. It had been a rough month, after all.

"You're tall. I'm short. Henry's balloon came off its ribbon." She pointed into the room she had just left, and sure enough there was a mylar balloon shaped like a frog floating at the ceiling with no tether in site.

"Oh, sure." Sam walked across the kid's room and grabbed it easily. A couple of minutes later he had the balloon back on its ribbon and been declared 'the tallest man in the world' by a kid that barely reached his knee.

Retrieving balloons for upset sick kids had to be worth some sort of good karma, right? He figured they were due for some. He was smiling for the first two steps back into Alec's room.

The headache came on suddenly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose like it might actually help. All thoughts of good karma were gone. He didn't have words for the crushingly painful sensation. He lost his balance between one step and the next. Like his body

_wasn't his own. He had been forced back and was only a passenger. He couldn't move, even though his body was doing that just fine without him. Someone was wearing him like a glove. An extremely angry glove._

He knew who it was. Sulfur yellow eyes and a touch that burned under his skin. That was all he could feel. He had been pushed back away from the surface of his being, unable to act. Could only burn. It charred the edges of his soul.

But he could still see. He was allowed that. The gifts belonged to his soul and not his body. He needed to be able to see if he was going to See anything. And the yellow-eyed monster wearing him wanted that particular gift desperately.

He could See everything going on around him. The battle field. The gate. And his brother. Who had a gun, the _gun, old, deadly and filled with power, pointed steadily at his neck. Just like they had been taught. People could survive a bullet to the head. You wanted to have a sure thing, then take out the airway and sever the spine. Sam struggled desperately to get free of the demon long enough to shout at Dean._

To do it. To shoot. To shoot shoot shootshootshoot . . .

He closed his eyes.

He had Seen what he needed to. His brother knew. He brother always knew what he and Alec needed. Always had.

Didn't open them again until he heard the bang

of Dean's chair falling and hitting the floor as he lunged out of it. Sam dimly knew he was on the floor. His head hurt, the throbbing from a sharp blow and clawing from something deeper. Something that was inside.

He let Dean roll him onto his side and coughed out blood.

XXXXX


End file.
